


What It Creates

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Complete, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma Swan breezes into town, the man who was once Tobias Gold realises what has been right in front of him, and who he cast aside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give forewarning that this is going to be a dark, bleak and desperate story. I need a flashing great warning sign for people who might have issues regarding dubiously consented sex and abuse. It isn't going to be at the centre of the story, but it will be brought up and I feel there should be a warning in place.

Rumpelstiltskin's hands pressed against the edge of the sink.

The reek of vomit was filling his nostrils and his head was swimming. 

He lifted his head to look at the face of Tobias Gold in the mirror. Tobias Gold. His persona for twenty-eight years. His name. His face. A cruel, unpleasant, ruthless man. It was everything Rumpelstiltskin had appeared to be in the forest, but nothing like him at all. It was what Regina saw in him.

He looked like death, pale, sick.

No wonder.

Only half an hour before, he had met a young woman by the name of Emma Swan. She opened a door in his mind that had been wedged shut for nearly three decades, and Tobias Gold was no more. 

Rumpelstiltskin turned on the tap, letting the water swirl around the sink, washing away the spatter of vomit. He caught a handful of water and dashed it onto his face, as if it could help, then rinsed the bitter taste out of his mouth, as much as he could. 

He wanted to kill Regina. Walk up to her, gun in hand, and blow her head off.

He wanted to hurt her for what she had done.

He wanted to do a thousand things to her, but he couldn't.

His legs were still shaking and he tried to focus, to think.

Her father was cruel to her, he remembered. Shunned her, cut her off, cast her out. Her association with you. She threw herself from the tower. She died. 

It had all been lies.

Rumpelstiltskin made his way down the stairs. He knew he couldn't kill Regina. Not yet. It might just seal the curse permanently. He knew he couldn't tell the Saviour anything, because no woman is going to believe a shaking, sweat-stained man babbling about magic. She had to believe on her own. 

His hands were still trembling as he took his gun from the drawer of the hall cabinet.

He couldn't break the curse or undo what had been done, but he knew what little he could do.

Storybrooke was a normal town. 

Normal towns have good sides and bad sides. 

Storybrooke's bad side was about as bad as it could get. The Sheriff tended to turn a blind eye to it, as long as the misbehaviour stayed within the boundaries. It was a seedy area, with grimy bars, low-rent housing, and the dregs of society pooled together. 

Naturally, a good number of the blocks of apartments and even the motel were under the control of Tobias Gold. 

Most of Storybrooke was.

While Regina wanted power over the people, she didn't want to deal with the mundanities of every day life. Their homes, their workplaces, anything with four walls and a roof, was considered his terrain, and she had placed herself as the figurehead.

Rumpelstiltskin drew the Cadillac up outside one of the complexes. It had heavy metal gates and looked more like a prison than a residential zone. She had housed all the worst of the villains and monsters together, all those who could have been her enemies, but were now reduced to a collection of the most worthless and useless residents of fair Storybrooke. 

He kept his gun close to hand as he walked through the gates. 

Just because they were restricted to their own areas didn't mean they were adverse to assaulting strangers or even one another. Most were bright enough to avoid him, but sometimes, they didn't pay much attention, and he wasn't unwilling to put a bullet in any one of them if they tried to stop him. 

He searched the windows on the first level. The light was on. Even if it wasn't, he had his key.

Rumpelstiltskin made his way up the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane. The coward in him was terrified and wanted to run, rather than face a past he had considered long gone, but the man who had kept a chipped cup long after the person who chipped it had walked out of his life knew he had to keep going. 

The door was ajar, the paint peeling and cracked. 

Rumpelstiltskin tapped lightly, enough that the door swung inwards. A sound caught his attention and it was enough to make his stomach tighten. He couldn't be sick, not again, not when he had already brought up everything he possibly could, but the back of his throat burned. 

As silently as he could, he entered the apartment. It was little more than a living room with a stove, a bedroom with barely enough room for a bed and tiny shower room. He could have crossed it in eight steps. The lights were off in the living room, but he could see they were on in the bedroom.

His hand tightened on the grip of his gun, and he pushed the door ajar.

He knew what he was going to see. Of course he knew. He shared all the memories of Tobias Gold, memories of a woman that he had used and abused and cast out. He knew what he should expect, but it didn't make it any less agonising to see it. 

She was on her back on her bed. There was a man on top of her, and he didn't seem to be particular about how active her involvement was. He was moving with such violent force that her whole body jerked with every thrust, and even though her arms around him and she was making small, approving sounds, she was staring blindly at the ceiling, her eyes unfocussed.

Rumpelstiltskin was across the floor and had the muzzle of the gun to the man's head in less than five seconds.

"Get the fuck out."

The man scrambled upright, cursing, until he saw who was holding the gun. Rumpelstiltskin recognised him. The curse was made to corrupt the good, and the golden King was certainly far fallen to pay for intimacy. He grabbed his clothes and fled like a coward.

Rumpelstiltskin watched him go. Anything but look at her, naked and vulnerable.

He heard her get up from the bed, heard the rustle of cloth. 

"What do you want, Mr Gold?" she asked in a small, fragile voice. “You just cost me some of the rent.”

It broke his heart as much as seeing her beneath that damned King. She had never sounded afraid of him.

He forced himself to turn around, to look at the woman he loved. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a short bathrobe. It didn't hide the bruises on her legs or forearms. She wasn't looking at him. She had taken a bottle of cheap liquor from the bedside cabinet and poured some into a glass. 

He searched his memory for the name that she used here, a name that he hated. "Rosie," he said quietly, "are you seeing that man?"

She looked up at him then. Her blue eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She drank from the glass, then shook her head. "I know I'm not meant to use the apartment for work," she said defensively, "but I can't make rent if I don't and I can't work out on the street." She looked so subdued, so afraid. "Please, I won't do it again. I-I just needed a little extra."

She expected cruelty from him. To give her anything else would confuse and scare her even more.

He walked across to the tiny closet, pulled it open and started pulling the clothing out, tossing it onto the bed beside her.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling. “Please! Please don’t throw me out!” She rose, as if to move towards him. “I’ll do…”

He held up a hand to stop her in her tracks. He knew exactly what offer was going to come out of her lips, and it was not something he wanted to hear. 

"You're taking back your old job," he said curtly, returning his attention to her flimsy wardrobe to avoid meeting her eyes. "You can't make rent, so you're damned well going to work for me until you can."

Anything was better than leaving her where she was.

His mind filled in the blank memories: she had quit, the last time she had been brave. She stood up to him, and when he hadn't tried to stop her or offered her anything better, she had walked out the door. That had been over a year and a half ago, and now, she was selling herself to make ends meet.

She didn't protest. That was how far she had fallen. She didn't do anything but finish her drink, and watch as he emptied the contents of her wardrobe. There wasn't a single thing in the wardrobe he would have let her wear. No woman except a streetwalker should have worn any of those clothes.

"Get dressed," he said, "and leave this crap. The car is outside."

She stood on the spot, swaying slightly, her bathrobe falling open. He wondered just how much she had to drink to make walking the streets bearable. "What about Jenny? Are you going to let her stay too?"

Rumpelstiltskin's hand tightened on the scrap of a dress he was holding. Jenny. The factor he had been trying desperately not to think about. "Where is she?"

The woman who was once Belle, the woman who he still loved, the woman who had no idea who he was pointed in the direction of the living room.

"You have her here? When you bring men back?" he snarled despite his best intentions.

Blue eyes looked back at him blankly. "Where else was I meant to put her?" she asked. "Everyone knows who her father is. No one wants to go near her."

He wished she had slapped him or even stabbed him. It would have hurt less. He turned from her, stalked towards the door. "Get dressed," he said again, pulling the door shut hard behind him. He was breathing hard, and he groped blindly for the light, flicking it on.

There was a crib standing in the corner, taking up what little space there was. It was the only decent piece of furniture in the whole apartment.

Rumpelstiltskin's head felt light as he approached the cradle.

The child inside was asleep. She had grown considerably since the last time he had seen her, when Rosie had brought her to the shop at three days old. A father should name their child, she said. He remembered telling her that she should go and find him them. Rosie hadn’t screamed or cried or anything. She just looked at him like her heart was breaking. 

That was ten months ago. Now, the baby was named Jenny and her mother was a whore. She had a shock of dark wavy hair and was lovingly tucked under a patchwork blanket. It was clumsily made from scraps of her mother's old clothes. 

Everyone knew who her father was.

Everyone knew.

Only her true father hadn't, not until he heard the name of Snow White's child. 

Tobias Gold had known, of course. He hadn't acknowledged her, even when her mother tried to claim maintenance, and who would support the little French girl and dare to argue with Tobias Gold, if they valued their homes?

It should have been impossible, a miracle child born of one night of fury and desperation: she trying so hard to show that she loved him, he trying just as hard to show her that he was a monster. When he turned away from her kiss, when they were spent, that was when she knew him for what he was. Not a monster, but a coward. 

He never knew that they had created a little miracle that night, not until Emma. Not until his memory returned, and he discovered that Belle was alive and was Rosie, and that everyone knew just who Rosie French’s bastard was. Everyone knew his housekeeper paid her way with sex. There were enough whispers about Rosie French to keep a big city busy, and Storybrooke wasn’t that.

She was beautiful. Smaller than she should have been, but perfect.

He leaned over the edge of the crib.

“Don’t touch her!” Rosie’s voice was sudden, sharp, panicked. She shoved him aside, leaning over the cradle and gathering the baby up in her arms. She was shaking and the child started to wail at being woken so suddenly. Rosie backed away, rocking the blanket-wrapped baby, staring at him like a wild animal. “Don’t you ever touch her.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. He understood. Of course he did. Hadn’t he done dangerous and foolish things when he tried to protect his own… his other child? “She’s my daughter,” he said as steadily as he could. Saying it made it feel more real, shockingly real. He said it again, his heart racing. “My daughter.”

Rosie shook her head violently, rocking the child as gently as she could. “She’s not,” she said, her voice shaking. “You made that clear. She’s my daughter, no one else’s. You’re not taking her away.”

Rumpelstiltskin tried to school his features, but it was too hard, so he turned back to the empty crib, patting the headboard. “Dove will come by and collect this tomorrow,” he said. He could hear the tremor in his voice, and tried to draw back the persona of Tobias Gold. “Get down to the car.”

Rosie licked her lips nervously, nodded.

He didn’t turn until the baby’s cries had faded, and brought his fist hard against the wall. It was easier to hurt himself than to break and weep for the second child he had lost, and the woman who he had lost with her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for the support on this one. I fear it is going to be a rocky ride.

Rosie French's life was down the shitter.

It had all started when she was taken on as Mr Gold's housekeeper. Her dad owed money, and Gold said Rosie could pay it off by working for him. It wasn't too bad. His house was big, and it took a lot of work, but she liked to be useful. Little by little, she started to like him too. He was lonely, she knew that, and had a sarcastic sense of humour that caught her by surprise.

It was always going to be a mistake, having a crush on someone she worked for. 

She kissed him.

One thing led to another and next thing she knew, she was pregnant and it was his. He stared at her like she was crazy when she told him, then told her to get out, because if she thought she could get money out of him by lying about some other man's bastard, she had another thing coming. It couldn't be his, not from one night of stupidity, and if it was, she could get of it for all he cared.

The good man she thought he could be vanished in front of her eyes. 

The rumours started only weeks later, when she started to show. Tart of Gold, they called her. She couldn't even deny it. It didn't help to say that it wasn't just sex. No one believed anyone could like Gold for his personality. She was a gold-digging slut, out for every penny. Her father said she was a disgrace and kicked her out. 

No one wanted to go near her, not Gold's cast-off, in case he took offence. No one would give her a job. No one was brave enough to take her in. No one cared that she was a scared nineteen year old expecting a baby. The only person who stepped in was the Mayor. She got keys to an apartment, said she was so sorry, but Storybrooke was so full, it was the best she could do, and Rosie was so grateful, so desperate, she accepted right away.

It wasn't until the landlord came by to sign the paperwork that she found out the father of her child owned the whole complex. 

The rent rose less than a month later. 

She had savings. She scraped together everything she could. She could have got rid of the baby. It would have been the easy way out, but she wanted to be brave. She wanted the child. She wanted to show she was worth something to someone. She wanted to show that she didn't care about who the child's father was. She wanted to be a good mother. She hoped, hoped against hope, that when the baby was born, Gold would change his mind. 

No one was with her when she went into labour. She couldn't even afford a cab to the hospital, but she got there in time, and Jenny was born. The best and only good thing in her life. She was so small, but everything about her was perfect. Rosie left the hospital as soon as she could, and the first person she called on was the baby's father. Jenny had his eyes, but he wouldn't even look at her, wouldn't even acknowledge the possibility. 

In tears, Rosie went to her father.

Blood was meant to be thicker than water.

He took one look at her baby - Gold's bastard - and closed the door in her face. 

There were bills, so many bills. She had to buy clothes and supplies for the baby, and that wasn't cheap. Even when she went to the thrift stores, it soon built up. The hospital sent her a notice that her insurance had been refused, that her father had her voided from his policy. The rent was in arrears. Her savings were drying up, and all she had to keep her going was the little speck of light that was her daughter. 

She never knew what it was like to be really desperate until the day she had to steal trash from the dumpsters just to eat. Jenny was asleep in the apartment up the stairs, and Rosie wept as she picked through the trash. That was when one of the guys in the complex copped a feel in passing.

The tears were still hot on her face, and she felt sick, disgusted with herself, but she looked around at him. "You want more than that?" she asked, her voice shaking.

She recognised the man. He was one of the drunks that lived in the complex. He might have been handsome once, but now, he was unshaven and haggard, and grinned. "How much?"

"F-fifty?"

He spat at the sidewalk. "Thirty or nothing."

It hurt so much. She'd only ever slept with one man before, and she limped back to her room, clinging to the three ten dollar bills. Jenny was still asleep, so Rosie stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the shower. She scrubbed herself until her skin was red and raw and the tears were streaming down her face. Her legs gave way under her, and she sat at the bottom of the shower, sobbing, until the water ran cold. 

She took Jenny to the store, bought enough food to last a few days, and with all that was left, bought a bottle of the cheapest alcohol they had.

It didn't help.

It didn't help the next time or the time after that, but it numbed everything for a while. She would drink enough so she didn't care, enough to take the edge off the pain and shame. It didn't get any easier, no matter how often she did it, but when she could buy warm winter clothes for Jenny, and when the hunger wasn't gnawing at her belly, and when they could have the heating on, she could almost convince herself that she was doing the right thing.

As long as her landlord didn't know what she was using her apartment for, she could keep scraping by. As long as Jenny was asleep, the men didn't seem to care. She was a good girl, a sound sleeper, straight through from ten at night until five in the morning. She didn't cry unless she was sick. 

Of course, sod's law turned on her again.

They'd been getting by for nearly six months with her turning tricks, when Mr Gold showed up, gun in hand, and sent the john running. 

She couldn't work out what he wanted, why he'd want her back as his housekeeper, when he'd kicked her out without even giving her notice the second she said she was pregnant. She half expected him to tell her to get Jenny taken into care, and if he had tried, she would have torn his face open with her nails.

Jenny was the one good thing she had in her whole crappy life, and no matter what he said or thought, no matter if he thought the baby was his or not, she wouldn't let him harm her. She had done terrible, shameful things to keep her child healthy and safe. She knew that if it came to it, she would kill for her. 

He told her to get in the car.

She did, huddling in the back seat, trying to quiet Jenny. She knew when her mama was scared and upset. She always knew. She cried, but only quietly, small, quivering wails. 

"Hush, sweetie, hush," Rosie whispered, tucking the blanket snugly around Jenny. "Mama's here." She looked nervously out the back window of the car. Mr Gold was still in the apartment. She didn't know what was taking him so long or why he had shown up out of the blue, but it couldn't be good. 

He emerged several minutes later, closing and locking the door behind him. He was carrying a bag. She knew she should be outraged at him going through her stuff, but she was tired and she felt drained and ill and miserable. She knew everyone thought she was a whore, but for someone to see it was something else. Especially one of the people she could have cared about. 

Rosie stroked Jenny's rumpled hair. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered. She flinched when he pulled open the opposite door, and shoved the bag into the other seat. It was half open and she could see Jenny's small stack of clothes and toys were all inside. He slammed the door, not speaking as he circled around to the front of the car and climbed into the front seat. 

He sat in silence for a moment. He had put his gloves on, and rested his hands against the steering wheel. "Does the child need anything?" he asked abruptly. "I brought what was there."

Rosie shook her head. "Only her crib," she said quietly. Dove will collect it, he had said. 

"Fine." He turned the key in the ignition and didn't even glanced back at her or Jenny as he pulled the car back out onto the road. 

It was barely twenty minutes from her apartment to his grand house, but it was like crossing the border into a different world. It was a place of gardens and porches and people who could leave their cars parked in the driveway without worrying about them being stolen. 

Mr Gold opened the door for her like a gentleman. She eyed him warily as she climbed out of the car, dragging the bag with her. The night air was chilly and she was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans and ballet flats. She couldn't help shiver. Whether it was just the cold or the way he was behaving, she wasn't sure. 

He made an abortive movement as if to take the bag, but she shied back from him. "I can bring it," she said, even though the weight of the bag and the baby was making her arms ache.

"As you wish," he said, turning his back and stalking back towards the house. 

Rosie followed him silently, all her concentration on holding Jenny securely. She knew she shouldn't have drunk anything, but it had been a bad night and Artie Morgan hadn't been gentle. At least Jenny was with her, and they were going to be somewhere that didn't ring with cursing and arguments into the small hours.

Mr Gold unlocked the door and switched on the light. He held the door open for her, watching her with an intentness that disconcerted her. 

"Am I to go to my usual room?" she asked quietly. It had barely been more than a box with a bed in it.

Mr Gold snorted. "You and a child in there? No. You can take the back bedroom on the right hand side of the house."

Rosie stared at him, confused. There were half a dozen rooms in the house, over three levels, but the one he'd allocated was one of the biggest, with its own en-suite bathroom. "The big room?"

"The big room," he agreed. "More than room enough to keep our... your child comfortably."

She looked down at Jenny, then back at him. "Why are you doing this?"

Mr Gold looked at her silently, his eyes searching her face. Eyes just like Jenny's. People said he had a stone face, that he never showed any expressions, but she always could tell, and even through the haze of alcohol, she could see something was upsetting him. She knew she shouldn't care, but that was always her problem. 

She squashed down the guilty urge to ask him if he was okay. If he wasn't going to tell her what his game was, she wasn't about to give a damn. 

"I'm tired," she said quietly. "Can I go?"

He nodded stiffly. "Those rooms are yours," he said. "Do as you will. There are towels in the usual place."

"I don't have any clothes," she reminded him, rocking Jenny as gently as she could.

He darted his tongue along his lower lip. "There may be some things you can use in the spare room on the top floor," he said. "Clothes without an owner."

She almost asked who they belonged to, but in Storybrooke, everyone knew Mr Gold could have the coat off anyone's back. It was probably better not to know whose life he had ruined apart from her own. 

Instead, she stumbled her way up the stairs, baby in one arm, bag dragging after her.

The room was almost the size of her whole apartment. It was dusty, but that wasn’t a big surprise. Mr Gold wasn’t exactly one for housekeeping himself. Rosie abandoned the bag by the door and headed straight for the bed.

It was easy enough to remove the dust sheet one handed. The bed below was made, though it smelled musty and dry. It probably had never been used. Mr Gold didn’t have house guests. He didn’t entertain. He still always had her change the sheets, once a month, just in case. 

Rosie had dealt with a lot worse than musty sheets. She tugged the pillows down from the headboard and plumped them together in a nest around Jenny. The baby was already asleep again, and that was a relief. If she wasn’t scared, if she was calm and quiet, Rosie knew she could be too.

She tucked her daughter up snugly, then fetched the bag, pausing to turn the heavy metal key in the lock. Rosie went through the bag. There was a toy with a bell inside, so she set that in beside the baby, just in case Jenny stirred. Until the crib was brought back, until she could be sure he child was secure, she didn’t want to take any risks.

She watched Jenny for a few minutes, then made her way into the bathroom. She turned on the tap, scooping water in her hands to rinse the dust from the sides. Only when it was clean did she shove in the plug and let the steaming hot water gradually fill up the tub. 

As quickly as she could, she made her way out into the house. Mr Gold was still downstairs. She could see the living room light was on. All the same, she didn't want to leave Jenny alone in case he came prowling up the stairs, so she ran unsteadily to the linen closet, grabbing an armful of towels.

It was like some messed-up game of tag. If she wasn't listening out for the tap of his cane, she was listening for the bells tucked in beside Jenny. 

The run up to the store room on the top floor was further than she liked. There were boxes there, half a dozen. Rosie opened them up. The second was neatly packed with womens' clothing, so she grabbed it and hurried back down the stairs, her legs trembling under her. 

It felt safer when she closed the door behind her, locked it again. 

She sat down to sit beside the foot of the bed, opening up the box. Jenny was burbling quietly in her sleep, and the rush of the bath filling sounded so mundane, so calm after such a crap night. Rosie tried to ignore how much her hands were shaking as she unpacked the clothes. They reeked of mothballs and lavender, but every item she unfolded to examine was well-made, high-quality and so beautiful she wanted to cry.

There was a nightdress, pale blue and so soft that it flowed through her fingers like water. 

Tears splashed down her cheeks. 

Such beautiful things didn't belong on someone like her, but she didn't have any choice. If he wanted her to dress up in some other person's precious belongings, she would, but it wasn't her. 

She gathered up one of the towels and retreated to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar in case Jenny stirred. The room was cloudy with steam, the mirrors whited out, and she was glad of that as she peeled off her clothes. Her jeans stuck to her thighs, and she looked dully at the blood there. So he had been rougher than she realised.

Rosie carefully folded her clothes on top of the laundry basket, then checked the heat of the water in the bath before climbing in. Her skin turned pink all over almost instantly. It made the bruises stand out in stark relief, with the dark shapes of fingerprints on her thighs and arms and blood clinging to her skin. 

Rosie sat numbly, staring down at herself. In the shower in her apartment, it was easy not to look. Just take a sponge and scrub. But a bath, with no bubbles to hide behind and clear water, let her see just how bad it all was. She groped for the unused bar of soap, tearing off the wrapper and started scrubbing at herself with the washcloth. 

The bruises ached and she whimpered quietly, but she had to be clean, she had to get all the filth of that place off her, all the sick and wrong and disgusting things she had done. She scrubbed and scrubbed, every inch of herself, her eyes stinging and burning from soap. She sank herself beneath the water, holding her breath as long as she could.

It was quiet, so perfectly quiet and still.

She broke through the surface with a gasp, lifting her hands to push her hair back.

It was a baptism of sorts. She could pretend it was a fresh start. She could smile and act like the last year hadn't been hell. She was back as Mr Gold's housekeeper, and she wouldn't make the same mistakes again. She would clean. She would cook. She would smile like she meant it. She would pretend that everything was all right. 

She would do whatever it took to make sure Jenny had a decent life.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumpelstiltskin didn't sleep. 

He slept little enough anyway, but with the woman who should have been Belle and the child who was his daughter in the same house, he couldn’t close his eyes. He sat for two hours in the living room, staring blindly into a glass of whisky, and when he finally mounted the stairs, he didn't dare to look at the door that concealed them from him.

He had given her the room on the same level of the house as his own, but on the far side. Close enough, but also far enough for her to feel safe.

He had no doubt that she had locked the door against the world.

He only hoped she would be able to sleep, even just a little. 

For his part, he sat silently in his room, forcing himself not to unlock the door from the outside, forcing himself not to walk right into that room and demand to see the child, his child, his daughter. He ran a trembling hand over his face, and wasn't surprise when he felt bitter tears on his cheeks.

He was the man who had done everything for his lost child, and everything he had done had turned on the woman he loved and the child he never knew he had. 

Once in the night, he heard the thin wail of the baby crying. It lasted barely a moment before she was hushed. He knew Rosie was afraid of him, and that hurt almost as much as the child's fate, and the abuse rained on her mother. Belle was the bravest woman he had ever known. For her to be afraid went against the fabric of the world. The curse had taken all that was her from her.

He reluctantly switched on the bedside lamp. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his reflection in the mirror on his wardrobe door. For all that he looked like a man, he knew that he had never felt like more of a monster. 

With care, he removed the glove from his right hand. He knew he would have to go to the hospital the next day, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Something was broken, and the flesh was already blackening with bruising. He looked at his fingers, then forced them to wrap around the handle of the cane. Pain surged like fire up his arm. His breath hissed between his teeth.

The pain would help.

The pain would keep him focussed. 

He knew Regina could not be touched, not until the curse broke. He knew Emma could not be told anything, not without making him seem mentally unstable. He knew that Belle would have no idea of who he was or how much he cared.

He had to keep playing the part.

Outside the walls of his castle, he would be Tobias Gold, but within, where his woman and his child were sheltered and hidden, he could try to be Rumpelstiltskin, little by little. Perhaps, somehow, he could show her that he wasn't as terrible as they both believed. 

He buried his face in his hand.

He had driven her out. No matter what was said or done beyond that, he was the one who drove her out. He was the one who defiled her and sent her out into the world. He was the one to leave her as easy prey for Regina and her malevolence. It was all his fault that she had been left alone to raise their child. It was his fault that Regina knew she was his weakness, and she was targeted because of it.

It was dawn when he heard the creak of the door opening.

Rumpelstiltskin found himself holding his breath. There was enough light cutting through the windows in the hall for him to see the shadow of her feet passing his door. She was treading on tiptoes, careful not to wake him, and he could hear the soft whimpers of the baby. Hungry, no doubt. Babies often were. 

He looked at the clock on his bedside cabinet. Barely five o'clock.

He knew he should rest.

It was a cunning ruse on Regina's part. She didn't believe the curse would break, but if he was ever powerful enough to break free of it, she knew that Belle would be his foremost concern. It would be as it had been in the forest: Belle was there to divert him from the real enemy.

He had to focus. He had to think. He had to ensure that Miss Swan had all the unseen support she needed to break the curse. And then, he would find Regina, and he would tear her open with his bare hands and scatter every part of her to the four corners of Storybrooke, and let the world know what would be done to any who harmed those who Rumpelstiltskin loved. 

He rose from the bed and walked to the window, looking out into the streets.

The people out there were sheltered in their ignorance, protected from the knowledge of who they were and what they had lost by his curse. None of them knew what they were missing and he envied them that. 

He took refuge in the bathroom for a time. It was easier than going down and disturbing her again. When he emerged, he sat at the small desk that occupied the corner of the room and painstakingly set down a list of duties in black and white. 

It had to be a business arrangement, nothing more. 

The ink was still drying on the page as he made his way down the stairs. The kitchen door was wedged open, and from the landing, he could hear her talking softly to her - their - child. For a moment, she sounded like any other young mother, happy with her baby.

Rumpelstiltskin sank down to sit on the upper staircase, out of sight. 

She didn’t need to be disturbed, not yet. She didn’t need to know that he was there, that he could hear her singing softly to their baby. She didn’t know that his legs felt like they were going to give way beneath him if he tried to stand.

He leaned against the wall, just listening.

He could remember Belle’s tendency to sing when she was distracted. She didn’t have a particularly strong voice, but it was as sweet as she was, and even if she was out of tune half the time and forgot the words the rest, it was still the happiest sound in the world. When Rosie sang, it wasn’t as happy. How could it be? But there was still the hint of brightness beneath the sadness.

She could be happy.

He knew she could be, somehow. 

It would take a lot of time and work, and he would have to protect her from the world that he had led them to, but she could be. Her daughter was safe and from what he could tell, she was healthy. Now, he just needed to help her mother to be as well. 

He only descended the staircase when he started to feel hungry. She would be suspicious if he didn’t. Rosie of all people knew how much of an early riser Tobias Gold was. He had chastised her often enough for not having his breakfast on the table for him at seven o’clock on the dot. It was probably unnecessary, but he tapped his cane on each step.

Rosie was standing beside the table when he entered, Jenny cradled in one arm. She was setting out cutlery as quickly as she could, but he could see all her attention had been on her child and none on where she was or what she was meant to be there to do. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, backing away from him as he approached the table. “I didn’t realise you were up already.”

“I can see that,” he murmured. He waved her away from the table. “Coffee, dearie. Now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She looked so frightened that he immediately regretted his tone. It was the fatigue talking, but she didn’t deserve that at all. She hurried to the kettle, keeping her head down and her eyes averted. 

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his eyes with his fingertips of his left hand. It would be better to dismiss her to take care of the house, but some matters had to be tended to, and this new arrangement had to be formalised. A deal had to be in place if she was to feel secure.

When she brought the cup over, she turned to walk away.

“Sit down.”

She went a shade paler, but sat. She was wearing a fluffy dressing gown, and he could see the glimpse of the blue nightdress beneath. The clothes had always been in his possession, a substitute for the clothes he had stored away in the Dark Castle in case she ever returned. It was heart-wrenching to see her in them now, wearing them as if they were nothing more than a maid’s uniform.

In her arms, Jenny looked at him, wide-eyed. Asleep, she had been mesmerising, but awake, she was beautiful. She had a teething ring gripped in a hand that seemed too small for the task, and she waved it determinedly, before settling down to chew on it.

Rumpelstiltskin forced himself to look up from the child to her mother.

Rosie’s expression was blank, but he could see the wariness in her shadowed eyes. Both of her arms were around Jenny, as if she expected him to tear the child away at a moment’s notice. “Is… have I done something wrong?”

He set the contract he had written down on the table and pushed it towards her. Her eyes darted to his swollen hand, and he saw the frown that briefly furrowed her brow, but she didn’t ask. He knew she wouldn’t.

“You did not have a full lease arrangement,” he said, trying to keep the wording as neutral as possible, “which led to illegal activities in one of my properties.” She flinched as if he had struck her or called her whore, and he knew that in her mind, that was exactly what she must have heard. “In order to make our new arrangement more binding, this is a written directive of your duties as housekeeper.” He looked from the paper to her face. “I’ve kept it simple. Tasks you must do on a daily and weekly basis. If all the tasks are completed, your rent will be considered paid, and any tasks that are done on top of them will be counted towards the original debt.”

It wasn’t wholly generous, because the list was extensive, but she had done much more when he had a castle to contend with and she had no child. She would have to work hard, but as much as it pained him, he knew she would not simply accept his charity. She was too wary of him for that, and any kindness would be met with suspicion.

Trust had to be earned, if it could be, and he wanted nothing more than to prove himself to her.

Given time, he knew he could and would reduce the tasks, but now, she needed to feel that she was earning her place, not simply being used or maintained to be his personal plaything. 

Rosie stared blankly at the list. She picked it off the table and looked at it. “All of this?”

“You’ve done it before,” he said, trying to keep his eyes from Jenny. The baby was burbling to her teething ring, which she was bouncing against her mother’s arm. He forced his eyes up in time to meet Rosie’s, as she looked up from the contract. “Child or not, I know you are capable. No excuses.”

For a brief instant, she almost looked defiant, but as suddenly as the spark appeared, it was gone, and she lowered her eyes, nodded. “Do I sign?” she asked quietly. 

He withdrew a pen from the inner pocket of his coat and held it out to her. Her eyes flicked to his hand again, and she bit her lower lip. By daylight, the bruising looked darker and even more unpleasant.

Her eyes dropped to the page and she scribbled her name across the bottom. Jenny reached out, grabbing at the shining fountain pen. “No,” Rosie said, her voice shaking and sharp, pulling the pen out of her reach, as if to keep her child out of the signing of the contract. 

Jenny started to wail. 

Rosie rose, trembling. “I-I’ll quiet her,” she said, backing towards the door. “I didn’t mean to disturb you with her.”

“Whatever you must,” Rumpelstiltskin said, wanting nothing more than to gather them both in his arms and soothe them. He drew the contract back across the table and looked at it as she fled from the room, the baby’s cries growing louder. 

He stared blankly at Rosie’s signature. It was a trembling scrawl. She of all people knew that his deals were binding. He folded the page and slipped it into his breast pocket. It was a contract now. A term of service. A business arrangement. She could take comfort in it, once she realised that it was for her own well-being. It would take time.

He drank the coffee, dark and bitter, and rose from the chair.

Even if she had prepared breakfast, he knew he could not have eaten. His stomach was twisted on itself and even the thought of food made him feel ill. He left the cup on the table, took up his cane and walked through to the hall.

He could hear Rosie whispering and cooing urgently, trying to soothe their daughter in the morning room. He hesitated in the door, and she looked up like a startled animal. Caught in the light streaming in the window, it should have been a beautiful sight, but she was pale and hollow-eyed, and there were tears on her cheeks.

“I have business in town,” he said abruptly, knowing he could no more stay in the house with her weeping and afraid than he could make things right with a spell. She needed time, and it was all he had that he could give her. “I may be gone all day. Dove will deliver the cradle this afternoon. You should reacquaint yourself with the house.”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

He wanted to say more, knew that a thousand apologies needed to be made, but not now, not yet. She wouldn’t understand, and he couldn’t explain. The words caught in his throat and it was all he could do to nod curtly, and be the coward once more. He closed the front door behind him and stood in the chilly morning air, breathing hard.

He stared blindly up at the grey sky. Emotions would get him nowhere. He had to be calm and level-headed.

It took more effort than he expected to walk down the steps and to the car. 

He tried not to think, tried not to reflect, as he drove to the hospital. It would do no one any good, and he had to maintain the façade of Tobias Gold while out in public. At home, he could be less controlled, but Regina could not know that he remembered. It would put too much at risk.

It spoke well for his reputation that he was seen immediately, but then Storybrooke didn’t have an abundance of sick people. Most people from their world tended to be robust, surviving misadventures that would easily kill someone in the new world.

His hand was x-rayed. The bones weren’t broken, thankfully, but there was a fracture and deep tissue bruising. The doctor asked him what had happened. Rumpelstiltskin gazed silently at her, daring her to ask again. The woman chose to stay silent, binding his hand and only spoke as she ushered him out with instructions about resting it.

“Mr Gold.”

Rumpelstiltskin stopped dead in the main doorway of the hospital. 

The Mayor.

The Queen.

The witch who had lied about Belle.

“Madam Mayor,” he said, inclining his head. His bandaged hand was resting on his cane, and he squeezed the handle hard. Focus. He had to use the pain to keep focus. “What brings you here on such a fine morning?”

There was a grimness about her expression. “A private matter regarding my son,” she said. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” Her eyes darted to his hand. “Accident, Gold?”

She would find out sooner or later, so it was better that he moved first. “Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “It seems I have fractured a bone. The doctors insist it should heal well enough, but it must be rested.” He shook his head, breathed out an impatient sigh. “I’ve taken that damned caretaker back on.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “The French girl?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled thinly. “That’s the one,” he said. “She was in arrears in her rent. I would rather get some worthwhile labour out of the little slut, rather than see her making her money by using one of my properties as her own private brothel.”

The glint in Regina’s eye could have been amusement, but he knew her well enough to see that she was pleased with the way her pawns were moving about and harming one another unknowingly. “Housekeeping with benefits, hmm?”

He gave her a condescending look. “I don’t make the same mistake twice, dearie,” he said. “You should know that.”

“I’m sure,” she said, stepping to the side. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have something to attend to.”

He watched her go from the corner of his eye, then strode out into the parking lot as quickly as he could. It was better to avoid the impulse to lift his cane and stove her face in. He wasn’t sure how long he sat in the car, but he finally drove to the shop.

There was much to be done: a saviour to aid, a curse to break and a Queen to slaughter.


	4. Chapter 4

Rosie felt like she was walking in a dream world.

She had barely slept at all, half-expecting the bedroom door to be unlocked and Mr Gold to enter. She didn't know why she expected it, but she couldn't deny she was relieved that he let her be. 

It felt like her whole life was repeating on itself as she made her way around Mr Gold's house.

Nothing had changed there. The same paintings adorned the walls. The furniture all stood in the same place, a little dustier than before, but exactly the same. The only thing that had moved was a single cup in the china cabinet, leaving a perfect circle in the dust. She had always wondered why he didn't throw it out. It had a chip out of it. It was hardly noticeable, but every other dish he owned was perfect. 

The list of chores he had made, her contract, was extensive.

Everything was to be polished, dusted and swept. Rugs were to be beaten. Windows were to be cleaned. Food was to be prepared. Suits were to be taken for dry-cleaning. Anything that was not to do with his room was her responsibility again. It was going to be a lot of work, but she knew it could have been a lot worse.

She could have been back in the apartment, trying to find men who would pay for her services.

The contract said nothing about servicing him. It was only for the house, and that both disconcerted and relieved her. There had to be a catch. There was no reason for him to show her any kindness. Tobias Gold was not a kind man. He had made it clear that he didn't care about her or her daughter. He just wanted a housekeeper. 

"I don't know what he wants," she whispered to Jenny, as she padded back up the stairs to their room. She had a lightweight baby harness there, which would free her hands. "But at least we have a good job now. That's good, isn't it, sweetie? Mama will be there with you all the time."

Jenny burbled contentedly, one fist tangled in her mother's blouse. She had fed and she was drowsy, but until the crib arrived, Rosie didn't dare set her down anywhere. She fetched the carrier from the pitiful little bag and managed to arrange her daughter on her back.

Only when Jenny was settled and sleeping did Rosie go down to the kitchen to set to work. She sat down and wrote down a list of everything that had to be done in each room. She used a magnet to stick the list to the refrigerator, then set to work.

The living room was halfway to clean when there was a sharp knock at the door. It was stupid to be afraid, but her heart still thundered against her ribs, and she stood mutely in the middle of the floor. No one ever came to her, not unless she went looking.

The visitor knocked again. "Miss French?"

Dove.

Dove would deliver the crib. 

She set down the duster and polish and hurried over to the door, brushing her hands on her skirt. The vast man was standing there, the crib propped in its pieces against the wall. "Th-thank you," she stammered, opening the door wider. "Mr Gold said you would bring it."

He looked at her, and she tried to crush down the sick feeling that she was about to be surveyed like a piece of merchandise. "Where do you want me to put it?"

Her hand was clinging tightly to the door handle, and she managed to smile. "The back bedroom, first floor up, on the right," she said. She couldn't go into the room that was her bedroom with a man. Not now. Not knowing how it had ended every time for the past six months. "You don't mind if I don't come up? I have a lot of work to do."

"As you say, Miss French," he replied, picking up two pieces of the crib easily, one under each arm. "I'll set it up for you."

She tried to thank him, but her voice felt small and lost. She could only hold onto the door to stabilise herself and watch the biggest and most imposing man she had ever seen carry her child's cradle up the stairs. He hadn't stared at her, or leered or anything. She knew there was something wrong with her world, when being treated with politeness felt unsettling and strange.

She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be treated like a person.

Only when he was out of sight, up the stairs, did she release the handle. 

Her chest felt tight and she felt that sick, hot feeling at the back of her throat and knew she wanted nothing more than to retreat into the bathroom, lock the door and cry. That wasn't an option anymore. She had tasks to do, duties that would pay for her home and her food and her child. No matter how tempting it was to let herself break, Jenny needed her. 

It was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

He hadn't done anything or said anything, and all she could think was that he might. 

Rosie made her way back to the living room and took up the duster again. She tried not to look at herself in the mirror as she polished it, because she knew if she did, if she saw how pale and scared she looked, it would only make her feel worse. 

She kept her head down as Dove made his journeys back and forth, carrying the crib up to the room. 

By the time he was done, she was working on the morning room, and Jenny was awake and babbling against her shoulder. 

He paused in the doorway. "That's the crib in place, Miss French," he said. He was holding a strange bundle in his arms. "I was doing some pick-ups and Mr Gold said this might be useful for you as well." He held out the object and she realised that it was a baby-walker. It was old-fashioned, made from rings of age-darkened wood, and but from the looks of the wheels, it had hardly been used. "He said you would need somewhere to put the little one to get on with your work."

Rosie stared at it as he set it down on the floor between them. "Thank you," she said, bewildered. 

He bowed his head politely, as if she was a person and not a whore. "You're welcome, Miss French," he said, then turned and walked out the door, closing it quietly after him. 

Rosie approached the walker, kneeling to examine it. It looked like it had been in storage somewhere to some time. She brushed her duster across it, then gently pushed it. The wheels didn't squeak. It was an oddly kind gesture from Mr Gold, but she had to face facts: he was doing it so she could earn her keep. 

"Let's see if you fit, Jenny," she said softly, undoing the carrier from her back and liberating Jenny from it. Her daughter squealed and wriggled excitedly. 

For all that her life had been terrible, Rosie knew that every instant of the suffering was worth it for how happy and healthy Jenny was. Her baby was the most beautiful thing she had ever made, and every time the baby laughed or smiled, it let her forget all the pain and shame for a moment. 

Rosie tickled her fingers over Jenny's side and Jenny squealed, swatting at her hands. "You've got a new toy," she told her daughter. "You can sit and watch mama work." 

She swung Jenny up into the walker. It was a little large for her. Rosie snatched a pair of cushions from the couch, tucking them on either side of her, then gave the walker a push. Jenny squealed, patting her hands against the panel in front of her.

"Isn't that good?" Rosie said, smiling as Jenny's toes skimmed the floor and made the chair move. Her brown eyes widened and she wriggled happily, making the walker rotate slowly across the floor. 

Rosie remained crouched where she was, watching her, until her legs started to ache. She unfolded from the floor and looked around the room. There was still so much to be done, but at least now, she could let Jenny play and explore, while she got on with the work.

The rest of the morning room didn't take long at all. She didn't go anywhere near the cabinets, just in case he didn't want his china touched, but all surfaces, windows, tables, picture frames and anything else that stayed still was polished until it gleamed. 

The dining room was mostly covered in dust cloths. Mr Gold didn't entertain, but he still had a full set of fine oak chairs and a grand table. She did a quick sweep through the room, cleaning what surfaces were accessible, then returned to the main rooms. The floor. That was the next challenge, and she was already aching from polishing every part of the three large rooms.

A break, she thought, was well-deserved. Tea and a sandwich for her, then Jenny's lunch. 

She put the kettle on to boil, then sat down in the living room. 

It was too quiet, even with Jenny shuttling herself around the floor, and there wasn't even a television or even a radio to put on for background noise, so Rosie carefully turned on one of the gramophones and set one of Mr Gold's classical records on the spindle. She wound the machine up, then placed the needle onto the disc. The music crackled and hissed, making Jenny whirl around with an astonished look on her face.

"It's all right, sweetie," Rosie assured her, twirling to the music. "It's good." Jenny batted at the front of the walker and Rosie smiled, going down on her knees to catch the walker and gently spin it. Jenny's laughter rang out, mingling with the sound of Beethoven, and for just a moment, Rosie could believe she knew what it felt like to be happy.

She made herself lunch and filled Jenny's bottle with formula and sat on the floor with her daughter. She knew she was lucky with how well-behaved Jenny was. She'd never heard of a baby who slept and ate so regularly, and she propped herself against one of the arm chairs, watching as Jenny greedily sucked at her bottle.

Despite their situation, despite the fact she was little more than an unpaid housemaid under the man she once cared for, it felt nice, almost safe, to be under contract somewhere warm and sheltered, with enough food and no need to worry about where the next dollar was coming from. 

She returned Jenny to the walker once they finished their food, and set to work sweeping the floor. Jenny seemed to think it was a game, pushing the walker after the brush and Rosie couldn't help smiling as she scooted the baby and walker around the floor with the head of the broom. Jenny shrieked happily and swatted at the handle.

When Rosie knelt to roll up the rug, Jenny giggled as she ran into her and Rosie couldn't help but turn on her hands and knees and give chase. She knew Mr Gold would be disappointed by her lack of progress, but her child was more important than his approval.

A knock at the door made her scramble to her feet in a panic and Jenny squalled in fright. 

Rosie quickly scooped the child up, trying to calm her, and made herself approach the door. She peeped warily through the window beside the door, then exhaled with relief, unlatching the door. The Mayor smiled warmly at her. "Hello, Regina." 

"Rosie," Regina said, searching her face. "How are you?"

Rosie opened the door wider. "I'm okay," she said. "Do you want to come in?"

The Mayor smiled and nodded, bending to tickle Jenny's chin. The baby stared at her, then curled closer to Rosie. "I heard you were back here," Regina said. "I was worried."

Rosie lowered her eyes, leading Regina through to the kitchen. "Mr Gold felt I could earn my keep here," she said. She refilled the kettle and put it on to boil. Jenny was wriggling in her arms, so she turned the baby to face Regina, one arm around her middle, the other supporting her underneath. "I'm his housekeeper again."

Regina didn't sit down, but approached to look at her. Rosie shifted uncomfortably, looking down at Jenny's hair. "Is that all he wants from you?" the Mayor asked, gently tilting Rosie's face up to hers. Rosie met her eyes and saw concern and pity. "He told me what you had been doing."

Rosie felt sick. It was one thing for people in the worst side of town to know what she had done, but not people who had always treated her kindly and thought well of her. "Wh-what?"

Regina put an arm around her, gently, as if she might bolt. "If I had known how bad things were for you," she said, embracing her carefully. Her dark eyes gazed at Rosie, and she shook her head so sadly. "I should have done more to help. You should have come to me."

Rosie's eyes were burning, and she blinked hard, trying to stop tears from falling, but it was a futile task. "I-I-I didn't think," she whispered, hugging Jenny close. The baby was whimpering uncomfortably and started to cry. "You had so much to worry about. Didn't need more."

"Oh, my dear," Regina said softly, squeezing her shoulders. "Worrying about you isn't a chore." She brushed the tears from Rosie's cheek. "You know I'm your friend, don't you?"

Rosie's voice failed her and she could only nod. She tried to rock Jenny, to calm her, but her arms felt like they were made of lead. Regina lifted the baby from her arms, and cradled her.

"Sit down," she urged Rosie. "I'll make you some tea. You look like you could use a break."

Rosie half-sat, then straightened up, shaking her head. "No," she said, reaching out for her baby. "I-I have work to do. Mr Gold has given me duties. I have to finish them or he'll put me back there." She could feel the tears hot on her cheeks. "Please, you should go."

"Surely he wouldn't criticise you for having a tea break," Regina said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"He made me sign a contract," Rosie whispered, taking Jenny back. "I have to finish my duties to repay the rent. I owe him too much. If I don't, he'll throw me out."

"That bastard," Regina said fiercely, her eyes ablaze. She stepped close to embrace Rosie again. "After what he did to you, I should give him a piece of my mind."

"Please don't," Rosie backed away from her. "It'll make him worse." She rocked on the balls of her feet, trying to soothe Jenny. She was shaking too much, too hard. "Please, you should go. You shouldn't stay here. I-I have to work. I have to make rent."

Regina lifted her hand to gently stroke Rosie's cheek. "You really are frightened of him, aren't you?" she said, some strange expression in her dark eyes.

Rosie lowered her eyes. "Please go, Regina. I don't want to get into trouble."

Regina nodded, stepping back. "If you ever need any help, you know you can come to me," she said. She bent and kissed Jenny's hair gently. "You and your little one can always come to me if you ever want a way to escape from him."

Rosie just hugged the wailing Jenny closer, and nodded mutely. Her legs were trembling, and she didn't dare try to walk Regina to the front door. She felt like she would fall if she tried to take a step. She sank down into the nearest seat, rocking Jenny from side to side.

"It's okay, sweetie, it's okay," she whispered, though she could hear the bitterness of the lie in her voice.

Regina knew what she had done. Mr Gold had told her what she had done. 

The one person in town who had thought well of her knew the shameful things she had done to keep her head above water. The one person who had treated her with kindness after Mr Gold had cast her out. The one person she had wanted to be oblivious of what she had done. 

All at once, she was smothering painful sobs. Her eyes stung, her throat burned, and she felt like she might be sick. Jenny was screaming, and that hardly ever happened. She only got so upset when Rosie was upset. Rosie whimpered. She had to calm herself, and her child, and all she could think of were the hundreds of things she had been paid to do, of the shame that came hard after, of knowing that every time Regina looked at her, it would be with pity for those things. 

It hurt. It all hurt.

Rosie stumbled to her feet, cradling Jenny close to her. 

She needed to be calm for Jenny. She needed to be calm and unafraid and put all the hurt away. She hated that she needed to do it, but she reached for the bottles of Scotch that Mr Gold kept in one of the cabinets. Her hand trembled as she poured a glass, the liquid spilling onto the polished surface of the cabinet. 

It was strong and it burned, but it helped. Almost at once, she could feel the warm dullness flooding her, drowning out the panic and fear, and she folded down into one of the arm chairs, holding Jenny close. She buried her face in her daughter's hair, murmuring nonsense over and over and over until Jenny's wails turned to whimpers and finally to silence. 

She didn't know how long she sat there, just rocking Jenny, just whispering, just soothing her until the child drifted to sleep, but her own cheeks were dry and streaked with salt when she finally rose. She laid Jenny down on the couch carefully, building a wall of cushions around her, then sat down heavily on the floor. 

She knew she should tidy the house. She knew she should prepare food. She knew she should do anything that meant Mr Gold would not cast them out into the street.

She knew it, but she couldn't find the strength to rise.


	5. Chapter 5

Rumpelstiltskin could not deny he was a coward. He was trying to do better, but it had been a part of his nature for so long, it was like learning to breathe under water.

He didn't return to the house until early evening. It was partly for his own cowardice, but partly to leave Belle - Rosie - in peace, to let her settle and acclimatise to her new situation. Dove had delivered the crib, and Rumpelstiltskin had tried to make a gesture to suggest a cessation of hostilities with the gift of the baby walker for Jenny.

Whether or not Rosie had accepted it was a matter he tried not to think on.

He had been cruel to her as Tobias Gold. All the worst parts of Rumpelstiltskin's reputation had been turned on the poor girl, some based in reality, some based in Regina's bitterness, some simply out of an undeserved level of cruelty.

He returned to the house with the evening. Twilight was descending, and the lights were on in two of the front windows. For once, his grand, lonely house looked warm and welcoming, but he had lived long enough to know that appearances could be deceptive. 

He made a performance of unlocking the door, rather than startling her with his arrival, and pushed the door open. It wasn't a surprise that the living room and morning room were both gleaming. All the surfaces were polished, cobwebs swept from the corners of the room, the floors swept. She must have worked all day to do that much.

He stepped into the livingroom, looking around.

"You're back, then."

He had expected quietness, but he hadn't expected the flat, hollow tone in her voice.

Rumpelstiltskin turned to see Rosie sitting on the floor beside the window. She had her arms wrapped around her upraised knees, and there was a glass dangling from her fingers. He didn't need to go any closer to smell the tang of whisky in the air. 

"I see you've been busy," he murmured, leaning both hands on his cane. 

"You too," she said. She struggled onto her feet, and he could see her sway. He felt sick to his stomach. The house was meant to be safe. He had left her alone to have some peace, so she wouldn't need to turn to alcohol again, but it seemed that solitude was as potent an enemy as the men who frequented her apartment. With all the exaggerated care of a drunk, she set the glass down on the window ledge. "I had a visitor."

"Oh? And who was that?" he asked, watching her warily.

She took one step forward then another, watching him out of bloodshot eyes. "My friend," she said.

"Friend?" he echoed.

She laughed brokenly, miserably. "You don't think I can have friends?" she said. Another one-two step. "I have a friend. I had a friend." There were tears in her eyes. "You told her what I did. She said you told her what I did."

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her in confusion. "I didn't tell anyone anything about you, dear," he said. "Who has been lying to you?"

"Regina doesn't lie to me!" Rosie sobbed. "She said you told her what I did!" She stumbled against the china cabinet, the door falling open. "She said you told her what I did!"

"That bitch," Rumpelstiltskin whispered under his breath. He took a step towards her, holding out a hand towards her soothingly. "I didn't tell her anything that she didn't know, Rosie, I swear."

She stared at him. "Liar!" She snatched one of the plates from the cabinet and hurled it at him. It smashed against the wall, and he sidestepped to dodge another. "Why should I believe you?" Her voice was rising, glasses and dishes hurled as shattered punctuation. "You've never done anything but hurt me! You threw me out! You abandoned me! You told her and now she thinks I'm a whore!"

"Rosie, I told her nothing!"

"Go to hell!"

She grabbed it, the chipped cup, the one memento of the time they had shared in another like, and if it fell, if it broke, if it was gone, everything they had would be shattered, irreparable. She ran forward a step, two, glass and china crunching beneath her bare feet, her hand raised to hurl it at him and at once, the cup meant nothing.

"Rose French!" He had never sounded more furious or terrified in his life. "Stop!"

She froze, staring at him, fat tears rolling down her pale cheeks, and the haze of alcohol faded into terror. 

His shoes crushed broken dishes underfoot as he approached her. The cup was trembling in her hand, and he snatched it, set it aside. She tried to run, back away, avoid him, but he caught her wrist. "Don't," he said urgently. "Don't move."

Her eyes spilled over with tears. "Don't hurt me," she whimpered, shying back from him as far as she could. 

"I'm not going to, dearie," he murmured as gently as he could, still holding her wrist as tightly as he dared. "But if you move any further, your feet will be cut to ribbons." He nodded downwards and she looked down, following his gaze. There was already blood pooling around her feet, where she had stepped on the shattered dishes. 

"Oh..." She swayed, and he reached dropped his cane to put his arm to her waist to stabilise her. "Blood."

"Blood," he agreed quietly. "Lean into me, and I'll get you to the window ledge to sit."

She lifted her head and stared at him. "Why?"

"Because I'm not strong enough to carry you otherwise," he replied, lifting her as much as he could with a fractured hand and a damaged knee. She was unresisting in his grip and made no attempt to hold onto him. She was trembling, though whether from adrenaline or fear, he wasn't sure. 

He set her down on the window seat. "Don't go anywhere," he said, pointing a finger sternly at her. She stared at it, and it grieved him that the echoes of the gesture were lost entirely on her. "If you do, I'll be able to follow your footprints."

Rosie nodded mutely, wrapping her arms around her middle. 

He retrieved his cane, then went to the kitchen. It was all he could do not to smash all the available surfaces to messes. He had to clear the floor, but her feet were the first priority, as gashed and bloody as they were. His own ire could wait.

There was an emergency first aid box in the cupboard below the sink. She had installed it there months before, when first she had been his housekeeper, and he could not have been more relieved. He fetched it and drew a breath before making his way back through to the living room and the woman he loved. 

She hadn’t moved an inch and was staring blindly at the bloody stains on the floor, and the shattered mess of his best dishes. She didn’t even look up as he approached until he pushed the largest of the shards to one side with his foot.

She was white as a sheet, and he could see the way her fingers were biting into the flesh of her waist. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I broke things.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, drawing over the footstool and sitting down at her feet. He reached for one foot, then hesitated, looking up at her, loath to touch her without her consent. “May I?”

She stared at him blankly, then - biting her lower lip - she nodded. 

Her ankle was thin, so much so he could easily circle it with one hand. He cradled it gently, lifting her foot to rest on his knee, the sole bared to the buttery light from the lamp above them. He could see splinters of china still embedded there. 

“Is there a lot of pain?” he asked quietly. She didn’t speak and he looked up. Rosie shook her head at once, as if to deflect the attention from herself. She was lying, even without saying a word. “This may hurt, dear, and if it does, I apologise.”

He took the tweezers from the first aid box and started easing the broken crockery from her skin. She barely made a sound, but from time to time, she flinched and he touched her ankle as soothingly as he could, keeping his eyes on the task at hand.

By the time he had tended and cleaned both feet and bound them neatly in bandages, his trousers and cuffs were sodden with her blood. The binding on his right hand was stained beyond salvation.

“Why are you doing this?” Rosie asked in a tiny, frail voice. “You tell people I’m a whore, then you act like you’re my own personal Jesus?”

He lowered his head. She was right to be angry and hurt, justified in more ways than she knew. “I have amends to make,” he said quietly. He set one of her feet, then the other, gently onto the floor, then lifted his eyes to hers. “I’m not a good man. I’ve done you wrong. I want to try to make amends. If you’ll let me.”

Her small hands were twisting together. “You…” She shook her head, her expression crumpled in confusion and weariness. “You want me to forgive you?”

He shook his head, resting his own hands in his lap. They were cold and damp and sticky with her blood. “I want you to be well,” he said quietly. “Well and safe. If there is forgiveness, that’s your choice, but I don’t want to hurt you. Not again.”

She stared blankly at him. “No,” she said, struggling to her feet. She winced, but remained standing over him, looking down at him. “You brought me back to be your housekeeper. You make me sign the paper. I’m your housekeeper.” Her hands were clenching into fists by her sides. “That’s it. A job. I don’t want your well or happy. I’m here because Jenny needs me to be. This isn’t anything to do with you.”

He couldn’t argue with her, not when she put it so plainly. “If there’s anything you need,” he began.

“I’ll work enough to earn it,” she replied. “Food, shelter and warmth. That was the contract. I work. I get those things.” She swallowed hard. “Nothing more. Jenny is my daughter. You don’t do anything to her.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, but did not rise. “Is she…”

“She’s in her cradle,” Rosie said quietly. She picked her way across the floor, wincing with every step. “I’ll clean this up.”

“You don’t…”

She turned on him with vehement fire in her eyes. “You made me sign the contract,” she said, bracing one hand against the arm of the chair. “I cook. I clean. I tidy up messes. Don’t try and make this anything more than it is.” She took a shaking breath. “I don’t want your kindness or your pity. I’ll do my job.”

Her words both grieved and relieved him.

If she was gaining boldness to speak back to him, that was a beginning.

He rose from the stool, wiping his hands on his kerchief. “So be it,” he said. “You will do your job and I will do mine.” He met her eyes, pleased when she didn’t cringe or cower or look away from him. “I would be obliged if you would do it sober.”

Her blue eyes narrowed at him, sparking with emotion. “Don’t leave alcohol lying around, and I won’t drink it,” she retorted, but there was something in her expression, in her eyes, that was a plea. The temptation had been too much, available as it was. 

“Deal,” he agreed.

She released a quivering breath, then turned and limped away across the room on her bandaged feet. He remained where he was until his legs felt they could support him fully. He was covered in her blood. It was not a scenario he had ever wanted to be in.

He made his way up the stairs to his own room, shedding the blood-stained suit and shirt, and staring blankly at his hands. He had killed before, many years ago, slaughtered a legion of men, murdered a woman, but their blood meant nothing to him. He turned his hands over, staring at his palms. He had not touched Rosie, but he had made her bleed all the same.

He turned the water on until it ran hot and scrubbed the blood from his hands with a nailbrush. Acid was burning the back of his throat and more and more, he wanted to go after Regina, sink a blade in her throat and watch her fall. He scrubbed and scrubbed until his flesh was red-raw and his fractured hand was burning with pain.

He couldn’t kill Regina. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t go after her.

For Rosie’s sake.

For Jenny’s sake.

Rumpelstiltskin wiped his hands on the towel. The wire bristles of the brush had grazed his skin, leaving a fine patina of red scoring, and his fractured hand ached. He bound it again, then dressed, abandoning his jacket and tie and rolling his sleeves up.

He emerged into the hall, pausing there. The door of Rosie’s room was ajar, no doubt to let her hear if her daughter started crying. He glanced towards the stairs. Rosie was rattling around in the living room. He could hear the sound of shattered glass and china being swept up.

She would be furious with him, he knew, but how could he stay away when his child, his daughter, lay only a dozen paces away?

He walked into the room as lightly as possible. The cradle her been set up at the end of the bed, within easy reach, should Rosie be woken in the night by the baby. A stuffed rabbit was hanging halfway between the bars, but what drew his eye was the child.

Jenny was asleep, sprawled out on her back, hands in small pink fists on either side of her tousled head. There was a small frown that crumpled her face, her button nose wrinkled. It was her mother’s nose, which was a blessing.

He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to cradle her close to him, but he didn’t dare. If he disturbed her, if he upset her mother more than he already had, he knew there would be hell to pay.

Rumpelstiltskin pressed a kiss to his fingertips, then leaned over the edge of the cradle and touched it lightly to her brow. “Papa’s here, Jenny,” he whispered. “Papa will always be here now. Don’t worry. I’ll look after you and your mama.”

Even if her mother would not accept the promise, he would still give it to the child. 

Once upon a time, a Beauty had promised forever.

Now, it was a Beast’s turn to do the same.


	6. Chapter 6

Rosie had gone over a week without a drink. 

She never thought it would make much of a difference, but her hands were steadier than before, and the queasiness that had been bothering her for so long had faded away. She had a feeling that the past few months had been spent in a constant state of hungover, and now, the world was starting to come into focus again. 

It was hard.

The world was going by without her. Sometimes, she looked at the newspapers and read about the mysterious John Doe who had woken up so unexpectedly, about the new arrival in town who had been done for drunk driving, about all the things she knew nothing about. 

The house was a haven, somewhere for her to put herself back together again, but it also felt like a prison.

She still got a flicker of terror every time she heard Mr Gold walking around. She still locked the door every night. She still woke in cold sweats, struggling against the nightmares of pawing hands of faceless men. Maybe it was giving up the booze that was making the nightmares worse, but she knew she had to get clear of it. More than once, she spent hours curled on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. 

It was so hard, but she wanted to be clean, for Jenny's sake, and if this was the place she could do it, then so be it.

Mr Gold was as good as his word. His drinks cabinet had been cleared out, the empty bottles put out for recycling. He took away the temptation, and that meant more than all his words of making amends. 

She didn't know what he was hoping for, if anything, but there was something different. He let her get on with her work and didn't bother her. He would come, eat the food she set before him, no matter how bad it was, and leave her be. He occasionally glanced at Jenny, but he didn't go near her. If he had...

Rosie paused, wiping at one of the counters. 

If he had, she didn't know what she could or would do. 

She hadn't ventured out of the house yet. His groceries were set for delivery on a Tuesday, so she didn't have to leave. It was like she was building herself a prison, and she knew she had to go back out into the world that thought she was nothing more than a ten-dollar whore, but not yet. The house first, then the world.

Mr Gold didn't forbid her from going out.

It would have been easier if her had.

One afternoon, when her chores were done, she felt brave enough to step out into the back yard, taking Jenny with her. It wasn't a warm day, but the sun was out at least, and the air felt crisp and clean. Rosie stood in the grass, barefoot, and lifted her face up to the sun. Jenny wriggled enthusiastically in her arms, and Rosie knelt, setting her down.

It took the space of two minutes for Jenny to discover grass, dirt, rocks and sticks and try to put every one of them into her mouth. 

Rosie wondered if it made her a bad mother for never letting her child experience the simple pleasure of playing in the grass before. When they had lived on the far side of town, the edge of the forest was a dark, grim place. No parent would ever let their child play there, and Rosie knew she was too much of a coward to face coming to the nice side of town. Even when Regina had invited her, she knew people would stare and point, and as much as she loved Jenny, hiding away felt better, safer. 

"Mama!" Jenny crawled into her lap and presented her with a half-chewed daisy.

"That's beautiful," Rosie said, smiling and taking the flower. She tucked it into the pocket of her blouse and sprawled onto her back, lifting Jenny over her. The baby giggled and kicked her feet. "You're going to have everything I can give you," she promised. "Everything you deserve."

She didn't know how, but she knew she would manage it somehow.

Mr Gold wanted to make amends. If he did, she knew he would buy anything and everything she asked for, but wasn't that just another way of selling herself? Taking his money and giving him what he wanted? Absolution? Forgiveness? She couldn't allow that. She had to earn her way and he had to earn his. Give and take. 

Wearing the clothes her provided counted for nothing. It was a uniform, nothing more, even if they were beautiful, well-made and fitted her almost perfectly. She was an employee and he provided her work-wear.

She worked, as she was contracted to. She did her tasks. She worked well and she worked hard, and they were fed and housed. For any work that went beyond her duties, she and Mr Gold had agreed a wage for her. A small part went to repaying the debts she owed, and the rest she was allowed to keep. She had a jar by her bed to collect it in.

Both of them had been surprised by how quickly she had swept through the whole house, but she knew that Jenny motivated her to act more than anything else. The harder she worked, the more she could earn, and the more she could earn, the better things would be for Jenny. Every room was dusted and polished. Every cabinet was cleaned. Every floor was swept and mopped. All the curtains had been taken down and washed, letting the light in. 

There was only so much she could do in the house, and over dinner - usually a silent affair - Mr Gold had cautiously offered her the opportunity to come to the shop and work there as well. 

The very thought had almost broken the eight day streak of sobriety.

It was ridiculous to feel so scared of going out again in public, but her breath caught and her chest felt tight with panic. More than anything, she wanted to smother the fear, drink it away. She must have gone pale, for he held up a hand and murmured, "Only a suggestion, dearie. No need to, if you don't want to."

The trouble was that she did want to.

The sooner her debt was paid, the sooner she could gather enough money together, the sooner she could be free of him, of all the obligations she owed him. She and Jenny would be able to live their own lives, and she could be a good mother, a proper, respectable mother. 

The more she thought on it, even as she bathed Jenny and tucked her in her cradle, the more she knew she had to do it. The terror twisted in a knot around her stomach at the thought of not only stepping back into the public, but facing them, even helping them in the shop. She remembered the way they had looked at her: contemptuous, disgusted, mocking. Every one of them knew what she was to Gold. Every one of them knew who had fathered her child. She knew what they whispered, and she knew, and hated, that in some small way, they were right. 

She sat down at the table, waited for him to come home. She would agree. She would sign a new contract. She would be brave, no matter how scared she was. 

The minutes ticked by, turning into hours, and he didn't return, which was unlike him. He usually returned for dinner at exactly seven o'clock. 

Even thought she wished she could deny it, she couldn't help feeling worried.

He wasn't ever late.

Mr Gold was punctual, precise, and never ever kept people waiting.

If he was late, that meant something was wrong. If something was wrong, then she may have lost the only person who would shelter and employ her. 

She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to look through the cupboards, in case he had forgotten any bottles of cooking spirits or wines. Her throat felt tight and she felt the familiar uncomfortable burning of acid. He had to be all right. It was probably just a business matter.

When it reached nine o'clock, she had been pacing across the floor, back and forth, back and forth, and the chime of the clock made her jump. 

If she didn't know what was happening soon, if she didn't have a drink to calm her, she knew she would start tearing at her skin. It felt too tight, confining, like she couldn't breathe. The telephone stood on the table, and she stared at it as she paced. She could call. She could, if she wanted to. So she paced. Back and forth, back and forth. 

The clock chimed again, marking the half hour, and she snatched the receiver from the cradle. 

Months gone by, and she could still type in the number for the shop blind. 

Rosie clung onto the receiver, leaning against the wall. She felt dizzy and breathless, and it was all ridiculous. It was only telephoning someone, but it was making contact with the world outside, like a normal person, and that had been something out of her reach for months.

After the fourth ring, someone picked up.

"Yes?" 

It was Mr Gold. He sounded hoarse, but he was alive. He was okay. They wouldn't have to leave and she wouldn't have to let them touch her again. 

Her laughter bubbled up, shaky and high-pitched. "Y-you're late."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "A minor incident, dearie. I should be home shortly. I hope not too late for dinner?"

She was startled to realise there were tears on her cheeks and she rubbed at them with one palm. "I'll heat it up."

"Fifteen minutes," he said. He breathed out shakily, as if he felt as drained as she did. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

"But you did," she whispered, then set the receiver down as if it had burned her. She had to brace her hand against the wall as she made her way back into the kitchen. Her legs shook beneath her, and she sank to sit on the floor. She wanted to sob, but wasn't sure if it was from relief or frustration at her own foolishness. 

Five minutes was all she could take, breathing in deep and hard, and by the time she heard the front door open, she knew she almost looked sane and calm. Her eyes were still red and her hands still trembled, but she managed to carry his plate to the table as he entered the kitchen. 

If she had been holding the plate, she knew she would have dropped it at the sight of him. 

There was blood on his face and his eyes were more swollen than her own.

He approached slowly and sat with a wince.

Rosie couldn't tear her eyes from his face. "What happened?" she asked in a whisper.

"A young lady who wished to break a deal," he murmured, picking up the fork. He didn't even seem to realise that he was bleeding. Just as she hadn't, when she broke the dishes.

Rosie bit her lip, then turned and went to the cupboard where the first aid box was. He didn't pay her any attention as she put the kettle on to boil, and she wondered uneasily if he had a concussion. He looked paler than usual, almost grey, as he picked at the food.

She poured a small amount of boiling water into a bowl and added took the packet of cotton balls over to the table, setting them down.

Brown eyes looked at them in confusion, then up at her. "What's that for, dear?" he murmured.

She hesitated, her hand trembling, then reached out and carefully brushed the hair back from his temple, revealing a bloody wound. His breath hissed between his teeth, and she flinched. "Sorry," she whispered, pulling her hand back. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." His voice was somehow lower than usual and his eyes were on her face. They were bloodshot and she could see some kind of sticky substance matting his eyelashes. "Not at all."

Rosie nibbled her lower lip uncertainly. "Do... should I clean it for you? The cut?"

He set the fork down with a rattle on his plate. "Please."

Her hands shook as she gently tilted his chin up with the fingertips of her left hand. His skin was warm, and just a little rough where he needed to shave. She dipped one of the cotton balls into the water and squeezed it, then gently started to clean the cut, as gently as he had tended her wounded feet. 

If she only thought of it as cleaning a wound, she could see it as a chore. It wasn't deep and it wasn't bleeding anymore.

Then he breathed out, a single, shivering warm breath that ghosted against the inside of her left wrist.

She drew her hand away at once. “What happened?” she asked, trying not to let the touch of his breath on her skin bother her. She used her left hand to draw his hair back from his brow, holding it back. “Did she hit you?”

“Mace,” he replied, his eyes half-closed. “I fell.”

She stared at him, his swollen eyes. He probably could barely see, but he had somehow found his way back to the house, and had apologised for causing her any alarm. Blinded and concussed, and the first thing he had done was apologise for alarming her.

She swallowed hard then braced her hands on the chair, pushing it. “Turn,” she said. “Face me properly.”

He obeyed wordlessly, shifting the chair.

Rosie felt sick with uncertainty, nervousness. “Tilt your head back,” she said quietly.

He did so. “What are you…”

“Your eyes,” she replied, her voice barely escaping the tightness of her throat. She stepped closer, and tried to keep herself from fleeing in panic when her knees brushed against his. “If you leave it, it’ll get worse.” She soaked another cotton ball. “Do… is that all right?”

“As you wish,” he murmured.

Her hands felt cold, despite the warmth of the water, and she was relieved his eyes were closed so he could not see how afraid she was. She licked her lips again, swallowed hard, then gently started wiping the mace from his eyes. He barely moved, his hands clasped in his lap, and that made things easier.

When the worst was cleared away, as she dripped water to moisten his stung eyes, she asked quietly, “Who was it?”

He winced with each drop. “Ashley Boyd.”

Rosie froze. She remembered the girl. The only other pregnant teenager in town. That girl had been forgiven her stupidity because her boyfriend was as young and as foolish as she was. It was different when a girl slept with the town monster. She forced herself to keep gently dabbing Mr Gold’s swollen eyes. “Why?” she asked in a small voice. 

He was silent for so long, she thought he wouldn’t reply. Finally, he said, “Her child.”

Rosie’s heart felt like it had stopped. “You made a deal? For her child?”

He raised one hand level with his chest, as if to ward off her words. “She made a deal,” he said quietly. “The child needed a safe and loving home. Not someone who thought only of her own comfort above her infant’s life.” He forced his eyes open, and for a moment, they looked dark as jet. “She isn’t like you, dearie.”

Rosie stared at him, trembling. “Like me? Desperate?” she whispered, her voice breaking as she twisted sodden cotton between her fingers. 

“Brave,” he replied so softly she could barely make out the word. He moved his hand and covered both of hers so gently that she was too startled to even flinch from his touch. “Always so very brave.”

Even if she had wanted to deny it, she couldn’t say anything any more than she could stop the tears that were spilling down her cheeks.

She drew her hands back, fetching fresh cotton wool.

“I-I should finish your eyes,” she whispered. 

He nodded, closing his lids lightly. “I’m in your hands.”


	7. Chapter 7

Times were changing in Storybrooke.

Despite his personal distractions in the shape of Rosie and Jenny, Rumpelstiltskin kept a close eye on everything that was happening. The reappearance of Snow White's handsome Prince was a huge step forward, and the fact that the Saviour was now living with her long-lost mother was deeply satisfying. 

The icing on the cake was the badge that she now wore.

He had heard the rumours, but had not seen her since Sheriff Graham had appointed her as Deputy, until she strode into his shop one rainy afternoon. The bell above the door jingled, and he schooled his expression into one of mild surprise as she pushed the hood back from her blonde curls. 

"Deputy Swan," he said.

"Hey, Gold," she said, walking two steps into the shop, then stopping dead.

He watched her look down at the playpen, where Jenny was sitting, surrounded by her building blocks and her favourite stuffed rabbit. She was determinedly stacking the blocks in a tower and knocking them over. He could see the suspicious look that crossed Miss Swan's face as she looked from the child back to him. After the Ashley Boyd affair, he knew what she had to be thinking.

"Don't worry, Deputy," he said. "That one isn't merchandise."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I never said she was," she said. "You just didn't seem a baby kind of person."

He tapped his fingertips lightly on the counter. "Her mother is working here," he said, "and I saw no need why my daughter should be left with a minder."

Emma eyed him. No doubt she had been filled in on all the stories about the disastrous affair of the pawnbroker and his housekeeper. "Right," she said, standing by the playpen. "I'm actually here on business. Some kids that were seen hanging around outside of your shop are suspected of slashing Regina's tyres. We're trying to find them now."

Rumpelstiltskin feigned shock. "Vandalism is one of the scourges of a bored youth," he said, making a note to find the lost boys and pay them the remaining fifty dollars for a job well done. It was especially delightful that they had done it on a day when the rain was lashing down in sheets. Regina must have been drenched. It was petty, he knew, but pettiness was all he had at the moment. "How can I be of assistance?"

"Graham says you know pretty much everyone in town," she said, bending down to pick up a block that Jenny had tossed through the bars of her pen. The child looked up suspiciously as the block was lifted out of her reach. "Do you have any idea who the boys were?"

"I can't say I pay much attention to the comings and goings of teenagers," he said with a half-smile and a shrug. He had to admit it was difficult to keep his focus on the woman when Jenny was indignantly pulling herself up to her feet using the bars of the playpen, and one pudgy pink hand reached through and grabbed at Emma's leg.

It shocked him how painful it was to see his child touch someone else, when she had not once touched him. He was sure she would have, but Rosie never left them alone together. As much as a fragile peace had settled between them after she had tended his wounded head, she still looked at him warily if he went too near them. It was the sweetest kind of torture to glance at the mirror in the hall as he left the house and see the reflection of Belle and their daughter playing together in the living room. 

Emma looked down with a surprised laugh. "Hey there," she said, turning and crouching down to face Jenny through the bars. "Is this yours?" She offered the block, which Jenny snatched back immediately, swaying on her feet. 

A strange parallel, Rumpelstiltskin thought, watching them carefully. He had reached through the bars to her mother, and she had reached through the bars to his child.

"Mr Gold? Why is there a stuffed penguin..." Rosie's voice shook him out of his reverie and he turned as she pushed her way through the curtain from the back shop. He saw the way she froze like a hunted animal, the way her eyes widened at the sight of Emma crouched down beside the playpen. He started to reach out to calm her, but she was already moving. 

Before he had time to draw breath to explain, she had darted around the counter and scooped Jenny up from the playpen, hugging her close. Jenny squalled in complaint at such treatment and held the returned block up in front of her mother's face.

"Hey," Emma said, her eyes running over Rosie's thin, pale face. She smiled, and for a moment, Rumpelstiltskin could see the kindness of her parents softening her features. She held out a hand. "I'm Emma Swan. Deputy Swan, I mean."

Rosie stared at her, as if she couldn't remember how basic human interaction went. "Rosie," she finally said, giving Emma's hand the briefest of squeezes. "Rosie French." She hesitated then added, "And this is Jenny."

Jenny obligingly held out the block to Emma again.

Rumpelstiltskin was startled to realise he was holding his breath, as Emma laughed and pushed the block back towards the baby, insisting that she keep it. He didn't know what he was waiting for or if he was even waiting for anything, until Rosie's face broke into a small, but genuine smile.

If he hadn't already been prepared to support the Saviour, the fact that she managed to earn a smile from Rosie would have won him over at once. 

"She's a smart one," Emma said, ruffling Jenny's curls, earning an indignant look.

"I hope so," Rosie said with a devoted look to her daughter. She looked back up timidly at the Deputy. "I didn't mean to interrupt." A sudden, fleeting look of panic crossed her face. "Are you here to see me?"

Emma shook her head with a crooked smile. "I was actually fishing for information," she said. "We've had some problems with vandals, and Graham didn't want to go out in the rain, so I got stuck with it." 

"Oh. That... that's bad." The relief that flooded Rosie's face made Rumpelstiltskin's heart ache. She rocked Jenny again, then set the squirming child back down into the playpen. "I didn't see any vandals. I don't go out much."

"Yeah," Emma said with a cool look at Rumpelstiltskin. "Your employer is a hardass."

Rumpelstiltskin considered protesting, but Rosie got there first.

"I'm not an out kind of person," she said. "He keeps telling me to go out and meet people, but..." She shrugged, self-conscious. "I keep busy."

Emma's expression softened as she looked at Rosie. Rumpelstiltskin knew she was seeing a vulnerable and obviously frightened woman, and there was enough of her father in her to want to protect the damsel in distress. "How about we have coffee?" she offered. "My treat."

Rosie stared at her blankly. "You wouldn't mind? Being seen with me, I mean?"

"Should I?" Emma asked, head to one side.

Rosie's cheeks flushed and she looked down. "I-I don't exactly have the best reputation around town."

Emma snorted with amusement. "I was on the front page of the paper as a DUI," she said. "The Mayor has had me arrested twice already. You wanna try for bad reputations, I think we'd be evenly matched." She stuck her hands in her pockets. "How about it? The two bad girls of town get coffee. I'll even throw in a muffin."

Rosie's lips trembled in a smile. "I'd like that." She darted a glance at Rumpelstiltskin, which was matched by a searing look from Emma, which told him that if he so much as tried to stop the girl leaving the shop, he would have one pissed-off deputy to deal with. "Is that okay?"

"As you said, dearie, I keep telling you to go out," he murmured with a small, brief smile. "Now, if you like. See the world."

Rosie looked between them. She battled with her fear so much and he could see the hunted expression in her eyes. It was too much to ask her to step outside. Even getting her into the shop for the first time had resulted in something close to a panic attack.

He circled around the counter and approached her. "You don't need to do anything you don't want to," he murmured, ignoring the Deputy. He hesitated, then gently placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her an anchor. Her breath hitched and she looked at him. He managed a brief smile, nodded. "No one decides your fate but you."

She stared at him, searching his eyes with her own, and nodded. "I'll go," she said. For a long moment, she stared at him, then swallowed hard and looked back at Emma. "But I'm bringing Jenny."

Rumpelstiltskin managed to smile and nod. He stepped back as Rosie hurried through to the back of the shop to fetch her coat and the sling to carry Rosie. The smile almost faltered as soon as she was gone, but Miss Swan was watching him intently, and there were some stories she didn't need to know. 

"So that's your housekeeper, huh?"

Rumpelstiltskin looked back at her as blankly as he could. "Yes, she is," he said.

She rocked on the balls of her feet, her hands sunk into the back pockets of her jeans. "Hmm." She stepped back from him as Rosie hurried back through. She was shaking and breathless, but he could see she was determined to step out into the world with the Deputy. 

"Take as long as you like, dearie," he said. "The dust will survive a little longer."

She scooped Jenny up into the harness, her hands shivering. He didn't want to push his luck by touching her again, but Emma saved Rosie the struggle by helping her buckle the baby in. "Th-thank you," she stammered, one arm still protectively around Jenny. 

"No problem," Emma said, helping her into her coat. "If anyone asks, you're helping me with my inquiries."

"Anyone being the Sheriff?" Rumpelstiltskin said with a crooked smile.

"He goes for donuts often enough," she replied. "It's my turn now."

Rosie looked at him, gnawing on her lower lip. "You're sure it's okay?"

"I'm sure," he assured her. "Go. Have a cup of tea. Give Miss Swan an excuse to shelter somewhere warm and dry for half an hour."

It was strange how empty the shop felt without them. 

For the past three days, she had accompanied him to the shop, Jenny in tow. 

At first, she was nervous, but as soon as she saw the disaster-area that was commonly known as his office, she had looked for somewhere to set Jenny down and reached for the cleaning agents. He was never sure why he had a playpen in the shop. He was quite sure Regina had simply shrunk down his old prison as a mocking reminder of where he had been.

All the same, Jenny seemed to enjoy the chance to play with her toys in a new place. 

It was easier than risking using the walker, especially not after her tears when she accidentally knocked over a stack of umbrellas. She had wailed for half an hour, and Rumpelstiltskin waved off Rosie's urgent apologies with a rueful laugh as he gathered up the scattered pieces. Babies, he reminded her, would grab anything. It was his fault for forgetting. 

The shop was brighter than it had been already. She seemed to bring light into his life, no matter what world they were in, whether it was by tearing down the curtains or by clearing the cluttered windows and polishing the dust-smudged glass. 

Rumpelstiltskin approached the playpen again, looking at the small pile of toys. The blocks were from a thrift store, and the rabbit was one of Rosie's own childhood toys. If she would let him, he knew he would shower Jenny with all the toys and gifts she deserved, but until Rosie permitted it, he knew better than to push his affections on either of them. 

That was the nature of penance.

You did not get the choice of when you made amends. You simply had to be there and do what you could, and hope that it would one day be enough.

He bent and gathered the blocks together in a stack, then set the rabbit on top of them. He had no doubt that Jenny would knock them flying as soon as they returned, but even that little chance of interaction, setting up something for her to knock down, was better than nothing.

It was close to an hour before the bell jangled and the door opened again.

Rumpelstiltskin knew that he was hopeless when it came to feigning disinterest in Rosie, no matter what name she bore. He could still remember a frantic rush down a flight of stairs, many years before. 

Still, he made sure to keep writing in the ledger for a moment before looking up. She had to feel safe to come and go as she pleased, and if he seemed to be policing her, that was never going to happen. 

He heard the clatter of Jenny knocking her bricks over and that gave him excuse enough to raise his eyes. Rosie was smiling down at her daughter, and for the first time since his memories had returned, she looked as if a weight had been lifted away from her. 

“A pleasant break?” he asked, setting down his pen.

She looked over at him, one hand still resting on the edge of the playpen. “It was… okay,” she said with a small, tentative smile. “Emma is a good person to talk to.” She approached the counter and set a brown paper bag in front of him. “Since you didn’t get a break,” she clarified, nudging it towards him.

He frowned, puzzled, but picked it up and peered inside. “You brought me a muffin?”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands, which were twisting together in front of her. “I thought you mind be hungry,” she said, then glanced up, eyes so blue beneath her lashes. “You’ve been so kind in the last few weeks. I-I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it.”

He set the bag down. “Rosie,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to repay me.” He looked ruefully at the bag. “Even if muffins.”

She laughed, only a little shakily. “It would take a lot of muffins,” she admitted.

“I’m not that kind.”

“I didn’t say they were the best muffins,” she replied, then faltered, as if surprised by her boldness. She looked even more surprised when he snorted in quiet amusement. She fidgeted for a moment, then blurted out, “I’ll get back to work.”

He followed her with his eyes as she all but fled through to the back of the shop and out of sight. The curtain dropped in place behind her, and he looked over at the playpen, where Jenny was standing, holding herself up with the bars.

Rumpelstiltskin could see she had pushed most of the blocks out through the bars, and she looked at him expectantly. He hesitated only a moment, but Rosie was occupied, and he was loath to bother her. He circled around the counter and approached the playpen, going down carefully on his good knee to gather the blocks up and push them back through the bars.

Jenny snatched one of them immediately and held it out to him. “Aga.”

His lips twitched. “Aga?” he repeated, taking the block and turning it over.

Brown eyes looked back at him sternly and she babbled a stream of nonsense at him.

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her. “You should have so much more than this,” he said softly. “All the best things I could give you.”

Jenny giggled and sat down, then threw one of the bricks, which bounced off the bars.

A ball. She needed a ball.

Rumpelstiltskin rose at once, and the child looked after him, frowning. He crossed the floor to a shelf, to a ball, and stared at it blindly for a long moment. Baelfire would have shared his toys. He was a good boy. He would always have shared.

He returned to the playpen and bent over it to offer Jenny the leather ball. She squealed and snatched it. It tumbled from her hands, and she crawled around the playpen chasing it as it bounced and rolled around the floor. 

“Your brother would have loved you so much,” he whispered. She looked up at him as if she understood and smiled a wide gummy smile, showing off her two bottom teeth and solitary top one. He couldn’t help smiling in response.

He had no idea how long he stood there, just watching his child at play, but all at once, Rosie was standing beside him. She didn’t look at him, or tell him to back away. “I should take her home,” she said. “She’s getting tired and I should feed her before bedtime.”

“I have a little more to deal with here,” he replied, making a conscious effort not to look her way either. “Would you be able to walk home?”

It was a big request, for someone who ventured out only when he was there with the car.

He caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall, and saw the way she was biting her lip. 

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes. I can walk home. It’s not too far.”

He looked at her then, recognising that set of her jaw, that cant of her head. All she needed was a golden dress and she could be walking from her father’s halls all over again. “Good,” he murmured. “I should…” He indicated to the ledgers and she nodded.

All the same, he watched her from the corner of his eyes as she gathered Jenny up in her sling, her daughter dangling happily in front of her chest, and wrapped her oversized coat around both of them. It was only when she managed to smile tremulously before she walked out the door that he released a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

It was more progress than he could have hoped for. Belle was there, behind those blue eyes, no longer so smothered by the frightened and broken creature that Rosie was. She was still there, she was not gone as he had almost believed.

He ran his hand over his face, drawing himself upright when the bell jangled.

It took him a moment to recognise the man who stood there, looking uncertain where he once would have been confident. 

“Mr Gold?” David Nolan said cautiously, approaching, though he paused at the sight of a mobile that Rumpelstiltskin knew once belonged to Snow White and her husband. No wonder it caught his eye, if his memories were still shaken.

“Charming, isn’t it?” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, stepping out from behind the counter and approaching. It was interesting to see someone who had managed to exist within the curse but be so untouched by it. Nolan - Snow White’s Prince - looked at him, confused. “The mobile. A charming piece. A little ostentatious for my own child, but lovely craftsmanship.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” David Nolan stared at him, as if he couldn’t quite recall him. “I know this is a strange question, but have we met before?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched ruefully. “On occasion,” he murmured. “How can I help you?”

The smile that would have been charming on the Prince looked bland on the man before him. “I ran into the girl who works here,” he said. “She was just leaving and I bumped into her.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I was looking for the Toll bridge, but the Mayor seems to have got me turned around.” He gave Rumpelstiltskin a hopeful look. “Your assistant said you know this town better than anyone.”

“She would be right,” Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged. “Out the door, turn right. Two blocks and you’ll find the trail again.”

David Nolan smiled warmly. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Your assistant said you’d help.”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help smiling quietly at that. “Did she indeed?” he murmured, meeting Nolan’s curse-dulled eyes. “She always was one to shine a bright glimmer of light in the darkness to lead the way.”

“Right,” the man said, then smiled brightly. “Thanks again.” He turned, then hesitated, and Rumpelstiltskin could almost see the bands of magic tightening around him.

“Seen something you like?” he asked.

“Where did you get that?” Nolan pointed at a windmill.

“That old thing?” Rumpelstiltskin watched him. “That old thing has been gathering dust for… forever.”

The man who was a Prince no more set the blades spinning. “I think this belonged to me.”

“Really?” Rumpelstiltskin asked quietly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” David Nolan said. “I remember.”

Rumpelstiltskin breathed out slowly, disappointed. Of course the curse would wrap more tightly around him. It was still holding and would continue to do so until the Saviour did what she was born to do.

He only wondered how long he could stand to wait.


	8. Chapter 8

Rosie was feeling braver by the day.

The shopping delivery had been cancelled on her request, and every Tuesday, she would take Jenny in her second-hand stroller. Mr Gold had scowled when Regina delivered it, insisting that since Henry was fully grown, another child could benefit from it. She knew people were still staring, but since the Sheriff had been seen with her and the Mayor had provided for her, the looks felt less hostile and more confused. 

Once, Ruby - the girl who worked in the diner - met her in the store and talked to her like she was a person. Rosie found herself smiling, which was something she was sure she had forgotten how to do. Ruby told her they should have a girls' night, but the thought was a little too much, especially when Ruby suggested cocktails and gossip.

She felt braver, but not brave enough, especially not with more than one stranger at a time, and with alcohol flowing. 

Mr Gold didn't know but she had a bottle of vodka in her room.

She didn't drink it, but it was there, like a weight in her pocket. It made her feel like she was stronger than she was if she looked at the bottle each night before she slept, and reminded herself that she had got through another day without touching it. She kept a tally in a notepad beside her bed, day by day.

Things were changing in the town. She could see it. The new deputy was a big change, but the biggest change came when the Sheriff died. 

Rosie had only met him a couple of times, once when he tried not to arrest her for soliciting. He was a good man, and had slipped her twenty dollars to buy herself some food instead of locking her up for the night. If he had arrested her, as he should have done, Jenny would have been taken into care and she knew she would have drunk herself to death soon after. If anyone took her child, it would be as effective a death as a blade through the heart. 

She knew Regina and the Sheriff were close, which was why she ventured out one afternoon, several days after the funeral, taking Jenny in her sling, to the Mayor's house. Regina didn't have many friends, busy as she was, and Rosie knew what it was like to be alone, and how cruel it felt.

Jenny was asleep by the time they reached the house, so Rosie covered her ears before rapping on the doorknocker.

Regina opened the door several moments later. She looked tired, and for a moment, surprise crossed her features. "Miss French?"

Rosie tried to smile, but it felt inappropriate. "I just wanted to come by and see if you were okay," she said.

The Mayor stared at her blankly for a moment, then opened the door a little wider. "Would you like to come in?" she asked, as if uncertain how to deal with an unexpected visitor. Rosie nodded, entering the house. She had only been there a couple of times before, and even then, it felt too grand and too large for the likes of her. Regina closed the door behind her. "So... how can I help you?"

Rosie shifted from one foot to the other. "I-I thought maybe you would need someone to talk to," she said. "If you're not too busy."

Regina shook her head, confused, then motioned for Rosie to follow her, leading her to the kitchen. "I don't know what we could talk about," she said, taking the kettle to fill it at the sink. She kept her back to Rosie and Rosie knew enough to know that she was upset.

"I know the Sheriff was your friend," Rosie said quietly.

Regina set the kettle down on the marble counter, bracing her other hand against the edge. "I don't want to talk about him." Her voice was clipped, terse.

Rosie looked down at her sleeping daughter, searching desperately for a happier topic. "What about Henry?" She suggested, knowing it was one thing they had in common. "Jenny likes his stroller." She smoothed Jenny's rumpled curls. "She likes being able to see the world."

Regina drew herself up straighter, then turned, a fragile smile on her face. "I'm glad someone has a use for it," she said. "He's grown so much."

"They do, don't they?" Rosie smiled back tentatively. "Jenny's trying to stand on her own already."

Regina approached to look down at Jenny. "I remember when you first came to me with her," she said, raising her eyes to Rosie's. "When that son of a bitch turned you away."

Rosie looked down. After her lover and her father had both closed their doors in her face, Regina was the one she turned to in desperation. Regina had been kind when no one else had. "I think he regrets it," she confessed in a small voice. "Mr Gold."

Regina drew back from her as the kettle shrilled. "Is that so?" she asked, filling an ornate teapot.

Rosie gently jiggled Jenny in the sling, one hand stroking the drowsing baby's back. "I sometimes work in the shop now," she said, "and Jenny has a playpen. I saw him watching her."

"Probably wondering how to get rid of her," Regina said darkly. "Go through to the living room, my dear. I'll bring us refreshments. You can put Jenny to sleep on the couch."

By the time Regina joined her, she had liberated Jenny from her sling and tucked her safely in the nest of cushions on the couch. Jenny grumbled sleepily, rubbing at her face with two small fists. Rosie laid her hand lightly on Jenny's plump little belly. "Hush, sweetie. Hush."

Regina set the tray on the coffee table. "She'll be a beautiful girl," she said, looking at the baby wistfully. "Despite her father."

"She has his eyes," Rosie murmured, then turned a small, tired smile on Regina. "No one ever tells you how much work it is to be a mother."

Regina poured them both tea, and Rosie curled up on the couch close to Jenny, one legged tucked beneath her body.

"Does he still have you under contract? Gold?"

Rosie nodded. "We negotiated terms," she said with a rueful smile. "He doesn't like it when people offer a deal instead of taking his straight away. The house duties cover rent and bills, and anything over covers the debt. The shop is a proper job, so I get paid."

"Hmm."

Rosie looked across at her uncertainly. "What?"

Regina stirred a teaspoon of sugar through her tea. "Oh, nothing, dear. I just find he's being unusually generous to you at the moment, don't you?" Her dark eyes lifted from the tea and met Rosie's. "After the way he behaved, why do you think he's acting like this?"

Rosie felt a knot twist up in her belly. It was something that had been bothering her since the first night she had returned to Mr Gold's house. As far back as she could remember, Tobias Gold wasn't the nicest man. Her crush on him had earned her funny looks, long before she ever made the mistake of sleeping with him and believing it meant something to him. 

She had once believed he could be a good man. Sometimes, when he spoke to her, when she was just his innocent little housekeeper, she could believe he cared for her. Once, he had given her a rose, and smiled in a hopeful way that had made her heart race. Once. 

It seemed like years ago.

"Maybe he was lonely," she suggested quietly. 

Like Regina, Mr Gold didn't have many friends. It seemed a reasonable explanation.

"Perhaps," Regina agreed, though she sounded sceptical. "You said he was watching Jenny?"

Rosie nodded, sipping her tea. "I don't understand why," she said. A small frail smile reached her lips. "He's not denying she's his now. Even called her 'my daughter'." She turned the cup in her hands, the porcelain warm against her skin. "It's nice to know that at least he doesn't think I was sleeping around anymore."

"That's quite the change of tune, isn't it?" Regina said, a strange tone in her voice. Rosie looked at her enquiringly, and the Mayor smiled brightly. "I'm glad for you, dear. I just worry that maybe... no. No, even he wouldn't be so cruel as that."

Rosie's hands trembled. "As what?"

"Don't you worry, dear." Regina's smile was bright, warming. "Let a suspicious mind fret on your account. I'm sure it's just my imagination. After all, he hasn't done anything about the... well... employment..." She waved a hand, as if it could dismiss the echoes of the words in Rosie's mind. "Enough about that grumpy old man. Let's talk of our children."

They talked over tea, and when Jenny woke, she entertained them both with peekaboo and crawling around the room. 

All the same, Rosie's mind kept backsliding to what Regina had left unspoken. Why would her whoring affect Jenny? What reason could Gold have for taking it into account? She knew she had spent the first days in his house expecting him to demand payment in kind. If he asked, what choice would she have had but to obey? 

She felt light-headed as she gathered Jenny up into her sling to depart some hour or two later. Her mind was whirling. What was going unsaid? What was Regina worried about? Was she worried that Gold was going to act like a pimp to profit from her? But that wouldn't affect Jenny, would it? As long as her child had a roof over her head and was well-fed, what did it matter if she had to degrade herself all over again?

She walked blindly back through the town.

It would be easier, she thought numbly, if she was just his whore. Perhaps that was what Regina meant. Perhaps that what everyone thought. She had lost count of the men she had slept with, but only one had ever made love to her. Would it be so bad to be considered his whore, if he was the only one she had ever wanted to touch her?

She didn't notice someone approaching until a hand grabbed her shoulder, and she flinched as if struck. 

Emma looked down at her with concern. As pale and drawn as the blonde was, Rosie knew she probably looked worse. "Hey," Emma said. "You okay?"

Rosie smiled shakily. "Me? I-I'm fine."

"Tears on your face don't equal fine," Emma said, squeezing her shoulder. "Want to come home with me? You look like you could use some company."

It was tempting. Tempting to run and hide with the one person who didn't know what she was. But it was evening and Mr Gold would expect his dinner, and she couldn't disappoint him, not if it was going to put bad thoughts in his head. Or hers. 

She gave a small, shivering sob.

At once, Emma's arm was around her shoulder. "Come on," she said. "I'm taking you to my place. You need looking after."

"I can't," Rosie whispered, hugging Jenny close. "I can't. Mr Gold. I have to do work."

"Screw him," Emma said succinctly. "I'll call him and tell him you're helping with an investigation."

Rosie nodded, unprotesting. Her eyes hurt and her chest and throat and all she wanted to do was close herself with Jenny and a bottle of something stronger than orange juice. Her steps were dragging and Emma kept an arm around her shoulder as if she expected Rosie to bolt.

"Home sweet home," Emma said, as she unlocked the door.

Rosie stood on the landing, looking at the door blankly, then followed the older woman in. She had seen the inside of four homes in Storybrooke: Gold's, Regina's, her father's and her apartment. It felt like she was stepping into another world when she stepped into the apartment that the deputy shared with Mary Margaret. 

It was small, but warm and welcoming. There were flowers in a vase on the kitchen counter, and from the smell of it, something was in the oven. Rosie stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, holding Jenny close. The baby was awake, but content where she was, kicking her feet back and forth.

“Sit down,” Emma urged Rosie, as she shed her coat. “Make yourself at home.”

Rosie nodded nervously. “I shouldn’t stay long,” she said. 

“You can stay as long as you damn well please,” Emma said, leaning against the wall to pull her knee-high boots off. “You’re not a slave and he’s sure as hell not your master. He can’t tell you how to live your life.”

Rosie sank down into a chair. She could feel the hot spill of tears down her face again and lowered her head, trying to conceal them. Her throat was burning, and it was stupid, because Mr Gold had been nothing but kind to her for the past weeks. It was stupid, because now, all she could think was that something was behind it. That something was wrong. That he wished her ill and she didn’t know why.

“Aw, shit.” Emma was crouched down in front of her, one hand squeezing her knee. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. If he’s hurting you, you know you can come and stay here, right?” She leaned closer, catching Rosie’s eyes. “I’ll keep you safe if you want me to, Rosie.”

Rosie shook her head. “He didn’t do anything,” she whispered. “I swear. He didn’t.” Not since he had taken her back from the miserable life she had been living. She was safe, she was sheltered, her child was fed and watered. There was nothing wrong there.

“Is some…”

Rosie averted her face when someone else entered the room, hastily rubbing at her cheeks with her sleeve. Emma rose sharply, crossing the floor, and words were exchanged, quick and quiet, and all at once, someone was sitting beside Rosie, and she was pulled into the warmest hug she could recall.

All the same, she flinched, startled.

“It’s okay,” Emma said, crouching back down in front of her. “Mary Margaret’s not going to hurt you.”

“Not at all,” the woman embracing her said. Rosie lifted her head and looked up into the kindest face she had ever seen. The woman smiled gently, and brushed the tears from Rosie’s cheeks. “I’m harmless.”

Jenny chose that moment to squall in indignation at being squashed so rudely, drawing a weak, watery giggle from Rosie. “Sorry,” she whispered, loosening the harness around the baby and setting her free.

“I’ll make hot chocolate,” Emma declared, rising. “You like hot chocolate?”

Rosie looked at her in bewildered surprise. “I don’t know. I haven’t had it for a long time.”

“You’ll love it,” Mary Margaret said. She was tickling Jenny, who giggled. “What’s her name?”

“Jenny,” Rosie replied shyly.

“She’s a beautiful little thing, aren’t you?” Mary Margaret tickled her under the chin and Jenny clapped her hands, happy at being the centre of so much attention. “I bet you make your mommy run around after you, don’t you?”

“She’s very good,” Rosie said quickly. “No trouble.”

Mary Margaret looked at her in surprise, the tiniest of frowns wrinkling her brow, then smiled. “You’re the lucky one then,” she said. “I’ve heard all kinds of terrible tales of babies crying through the night or being little hellions.”

Rosie bounced Jenny on her knee. “Lucky me,” she said, looking down at her daughter.

Silence fell and Mary Margaret glanced over at Emma. Rosie didn’t see if something was mouthed or if just a look was exchanged, but Mary Margaret turned back to her and clasped one of Rosie’s thin hands in her own.

“Emma said you’re working for Mr Gold again,” she said.

Rosie nodded, looking down. She wanted to pull her hand back, not used to such kindness from a stranger, and was grateful when Jenny started wriggling and gave her the excuse to do so. “I-I’m his housekeeper again,” she said, trying to soothe her daughter.

“You can set her down,” Mary Margaret suggested. “She can explore, if she likes.”

Rosie looked at her warily. It felt like lowering a shield to let Jenny down. She would be exposed, with nothing and no one to hide behind. She looked at her daughter’s crown, then nodded. She couldn’t hide behind excuse her whole life.

All the same, as soon as she set Jenny down on the polished floor, she clasped her hands together tightly, to keep herself from reaching back down for her. She forced herself to look at Mary Margaret and smile, but it felt like she was exposed and bare, and she was shaking already. 

“Just breathe,” Mary Margaret said gently. “You’re okay.”

“I-I’m not used to people,” Rosie admitted. “New people.”

“No one ever is,” Mary Margaret said with a small smile. “You wouldn’t believe how much I blush.”

“She does too,” Emma agreed, approaching. She stepped carefully around Jenny, who was making a thorough exploration of the rug. “First time I met her, she got so red I thought she’d faint with all the blood rushing to her head.”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “Well, I was being accused of aiding and abetting Henry in a credit card fraud,” she said. She took one of the mugs from Emma, and offered it to Rosie with a small, quiet smile. “You don’t have to be afraid here.”

Rosie accepted the mug in her trembling hands. “It’s easy to say it,” she said quietly. She wrapped her hands tight around the mug to keep from dropping it, and glanced at the deputy nervously. “I wanted to pass on my condolences. About Graham.”

Like Regina, Emma’s face went tight and blank. “Yeah,” she said. “It was bad.”

Rosie ducked her head. She had spoke out of place again, already. “Sorry,” she stammered.

Mary Margaret touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not you. It’s just… we miss him.”

“Regina does too,” Rosie volunteered, flinching when Emma rose abruptly and walked back to the kitchen.

“She must have forgotten the cinnamon,” Mary Margaret said. She was trying to sound casual, but Rosie could see the concern in her face. Mary Margaret breathed out slowly and looked back at Rosie. “She and Regina don’t see eye to eye.”

“Oh.” Rosie looked down into her chocolate. “Regina’s my friend.”

“Are you sure?” Mary Margaret sounded so surprised that Rosie looked up at her, and they stared at one another for a moment. 

“What do you mean?” Rosie asked uncertainly. Regina was the person who helped her. She was the person who found her a home. She was the person who visited her and talked to her, even if it did make her worry. “She’s very kind to me.”

“You must be the only one,” Mary Margaret said, shaking her head. “You and Henry.”

Rosie managed to smile. “Then I’m glad,” she said. “Everyone needs a friend.”

Mary Margaret touched her knee gently. “Or two?” she suggested.

Rosie stared at her, then ducked her head and nodded. “I’d like that,” she whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

Rumpelstiltskin knew there was a cost to doing what was necessary.

In one fell swoop, he had earned the distrust of the Mayor, the wariness of the now-Sheriff and the fear of his housekeeper. 

Rosie had been drawing away from him for days, ever since she had been out socialising. He had picked her up from Mary Margaret's apartment. The woman who was once Snow White was the one who opened the door for him, and he could almost feel the disapproval radiating from her. 

From the looks of things, Rosie had been crying, but when he asked if she was quite well, she smiled her hollow smile, nodded, and followed him down to the car. She sat in the back seat, cradling Jenny, and didn't say a word to him as he drove her home. 

In the week that followed, the fragile peace that had bloomed between them was shattered. She did her duties, then retreated to her room or to the garden, taking Jenny with her. She reduced her hours in the shop to work on the upper levels of the house, and when he was in the house, she rarely stayed in the same room as him.

It hurt enough that she was cutting herself away from him, but she took Jenny with her.

Something had to have happened. He didn't know if it was something that Miss Swan had said. He was more inclined to believe that Regina had reached her. Emma Swan was not the kind to make people hurt themselves, but Regina had a way with words, a lesson learned from years of association with him. Rosie still believed they were friends, and that made his stomach twist in dread. Regina could play on the fears that she had planted in Rosie herself. She could manipulate the damage she had already done.

The election was necessary. The fire was necessary. The debate was necessary.

Rosie didn't attend the debate, but she heard. It was all over the paper, the new Sheriff's gallant rebellion against the man who owned the town, a woman brave enough to take him head on. She was not only a hero in the fire, but she told the truth and spoke out against a man who had set the fire.

It was the middle of the night when he heard something falling down the stairs.

Rumpelstiltskin emerged onto the landing, to see Rosie on her knees at the foot of the stairs, gathering up the contents of Jenny's baby bag by the light of the streetlamp pouring through the patterned glass of the front door. She was shushing Jenny urgently, the child whimpering in the sling against her mother's chest.

Rumpelstiltskin reached out and flicked on the light. Rosie recoiled like a wild animal, looking up at him in terror. He wished she had just hit him. Stabbed him. Anything would have been less painful than Belle looking at him as the monster he truly was.

"What are you doing, dearie?" he asked quietly.

She fumbled with the bottles, gathering them into the bag. She had Jenny's clothes, her few toys as well. "I can't stay here," she said, shaking her head. "Not after what you did." She looked up at him. "You could have killed my friends. You could have killed them both!"

"They were in no danger," he said, walking down three steps.

She was on her feet in an instant, backing towards the door, leaving a spill of wipes and bottle caps on the floor. "You don't know that," she said, her voice so tight that every word was like a blow. "How could you know that?" She pulled her bag onto her shoulder. "You don't care who you hurt."

"That's a lie," he snapped out before he could stop himself. 

She stared at him like he was a stranger. "The only person who’s lying here is you," she said, grim finality etched in every line of her weary face. "You lie to yourself about everything." She backed towards the door. "I won't stay in a house where my child is in danger."

"Our child isn't in any danger," he said, descending the rest of the stairs. "I would never harm her."

She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. "You already did." She reached behind her, unlatching the door. "You're the one who turned us out. You're the one who put us where we were. You might be able to forget that, but I won't."

Rumpelstiltskin recoiled. "Rosie..."

"No," she said. "No more. I'll work for you. I'll come and I'll clean your house and I'll tend your shop. I'll pay my debts. But I can't and won't live in the house of a man like you. Not with my child."

He wrapped his hands tight around the handle of his cane. "Where do you propose to go?"

She lifted her chin in defiance, even though she was pale and shivering. "Anywhere but here."

"There's room at Granny's," he said, his hand aching on the cane. The cracked bone hadn't healed properly. "I can ensure you have a room there. Privacy. All you need."

Her blue eyes met his with a fire she had been lacking for so long. "And what's the price?"

He held out one hand. "Rosie..."

"You said you were trying to make amends," she cut across him, her voice firm and steady. "Amends don't involve putting my friends in danger. Amends don't mean I should feel like I'm living with a dangerous man who would kill if he chose to. Amends don't mean I should have to depend on your temporary generosity, when it bothers to rear its ugly head." She pulled the door open. "I don't want you to come near Jenny until you can show me you're not going to put people I care about in danger or blackmail me into doing what you want."

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

She stared at him, then laughed bitterly. "And you're doing a great job." She shifted the bag on her shoulder, watching him for a long moment. "Don't come after me. Don't try and bully me into coming back. I'm still your employee, but that's all. And that's all you are to Jenny: my employer."

Rumpelstiltskin's mouth felt dry. It was nothing. He was nothing to her. He nodded. He always would let her go. That was his curse. Letting the ones he loved slip through his fingers. "You're free to do as you wish, dear," he said quietly. "My door will always be open for both of you."

She hesitated, then nodded once, and then she was gone. 

The only blessing - which was also the curse of it all - was that it wasn't permanent. Each morning when he left for the shop, she would be waiting at the front door of the house with her daughter in her arms. They would exchange good mornings and the keys to the house, but no more than that, and he would try his utmost not to look at his child. Her shifts at the shop were reduced to keep Jenny out of his reach, though he neglected to change the salary. She needed every penny she was earning, and he wasn't about to take that from her. 

She wasn't there when the Sheriff came by, looking for information about the father of Hansel and Gretel. He remembered every deal that he ever made. He knew every bit of merchandise in his shop. He knew exactly who she was looking for and she knew it too.

"What's your price?" she asked with a world-weary sigh.

"Forgiveness?" he suggested. It was worth more from her than she knew.

She folded her arms. "How about tolerance?"

He allowed her that with a brief, rueful smile. "It's a start." He glanced at the blank card in his hand. "His name's Michael Tillman."

"That's it? A name?"

He shrugged. "I find that's often all one needs," he said. He set the card down. "Speaking of parents..."

"Don't even ask me how she's really doing," the Sheriff said coolly. "You might have played me, but you've done worse to her, and you know it. I'm not going to let you hurt her again." She braced her hands on the edge of the counter. "She's going to stay with us as long as she needs to."

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head. 

Of all the people for Rosie to be sheltered by, the Sheriff and her mother were a far better choice than the other options. As much as Rosie insisted that Regina was a friend, there was something there that kept her from seeking refuge in Regina's home, and for that, Rumpelstiltskin was grateful. 

"As long as she's well," he said. 

Emma studied him. "You really do care about her, don't you?"

"She's the mother of my child," he said, meeting her eyes. "That's not something I can ignore."

She pushed back from the counter. "You keep telling yourself that," she said. She walked towards the door, then paused, glancing back at him. "She doesn't hate you," she said. "That's all I can tell you."

It felt like a band closed about his heart loosened. "Thank you, Sheriff," he said.

Emma nodded. The bell rattled as she closed the door behind her.

The days were crawling by. It was verging on unbearable to have Rosie there, but knowing she didn't want to be near him. It felt like living with a ghost. She flitted around him, as if she could neither see nor hear him in the shop, and their brief exchanges at the house were clipped and tense.

He wished he knew how to make things right.

All he could do was watch and wait.

He made deals for land with Regina. He watched the Sheriff put too much trust in the Queen's mirror. He watched as the women Rosie claimed as friends circled one another. It was all over a son. Strange that they didn't realise that it wasn't just their son. And now, it wasn't just his son either. There was another child who had been cast into a world that was far too cruel. 

He knew Regina suspected him. She had, from the moment he took Rosie back on as his housekeeper. He had tried to stay out of her way, but if Rosie was spending time with the Mayor at all, then he had no doubt they would talk in confidence, as friends did. Something like Tobias Gold sharing a muffin with his housekeeper was something that would not have happened six months earlier. 

The fact that Rosie had walked out on him again had tempered the Queen's suspicions, at least a little, and he made sure that no one could suspect his affections towards Miss French. He neither paid her visits nor did anything that did not befit an employer. To all the world, she was just his housekeeper and he was just the man who took advantage of her, and as much as it pained him, he had to let them believe that.

Only Sheriff Swan seemed to see through him.

Given her nature, that was no surprise.

She was not his ally, but it seemed she was not going to consider herself his enemy. Not yet, at least, even in spite of his behaviour before she arrived in Storybrooke.

For all that things were changing thanks to her, he and Rosie seemed to be falling into a pattern of repetition. Day in, day out, she came to the house, he let her in as he left, they barely spoke and she never met his eyes. It all changed one evening, when Jenny raced at him in the baby walker, colliding with his legs, and for the first time in days and weeks, Rosie looked at him, a strange expression in her eyes.

He didn't touch Jenny, as much as he wanted to, but he couldn't keep himself from looking at her. She beamed up at him, trusting him as much as her mother didn't. It was so long since someone had smiled at him with such innocence, he couldn't help but smile sadly back.

Jenny just giggled and shuttled off across the floor.

"She looks well," he said, watching her.

Rosie stopped polishing when he glanced at her. It took him a moment to realise she was holding a familiar cup in one hand, the duster in the other. "She is," she said quietly. She looked down at the cup in her hand, turning it over as she wiped at it with the duster. "She took her first steps a few days ago."

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her in astonishment. "She's old enough for that?"

A small smile twitched at Rosie's lips. "She's a fast learner," she said. She replaced the cup into the china cabinet, then closed the doors over. For a moment, she stayed there, hands on the handles, and gazed into the cabinet. "There's not much room at Mary Margaret's. I feel like I'm in the way."

Rumpelstiltskin's heart thundered. "As I said, if you wished to have a room at Granny's..."

"Emma told me you helped her with the Tillman children," she interrupted. She turned and looked at him. "She said it's not the first time. She seems to think that under all the Asshole, you could be a good guy."

Rumpelstiltskin smiled crookedly. "She's the second to think so."

Rosie looked at him. "Who was the first?"

He nodded towards her.

Rosie laid down the duster and stepped closer to him. "If we come back," she said quietly, "there are conditions."

"Of course," he agreed.

She drew a breath, as if she was about to take a plunge. "You won't try and take Jenny from me. I know I'm not a very good mother, but she's my daughter. If you try and take her, just because you have money and security, I can't..." Her voice broke. "She's my daughter. I don't want to risk losing her."

Rumpelstiltskin moved before he realised, and his hand was around one of hers. He heard her gasp, but kept his grip on her trembling fingers. "I would never take your child from you," he said fiercely, his face close to hers. "No one is going to take her from you."

She had shied back against the china cabinet, startled, but for the first time in months, she wasn't looking at him with any kind of fear. Her eyes searched his face. "You swear?" 

He felt the whisper of her breath against his face and his thumb brushed along hers and she shivered with something that wasn't alarm. "I promise."

"Mama!"

Jenny's voice had the same affect as a bucket of ice water.

Rosie pulled back, blushing furiously. "I should get on with things," she said, squeezing out past him. 

"You'll consider coming back?" 

She paused, only three paces away. "To the house?" she said cautiously.

"To the house," he concurred, though if she walked back to him and let him kiss her, he knew he wouldn't complain.

Her smile was fleeting and a brief ray of light. "Maybe," she said.

It was amazing the difference the smile made.

When he saw her to the door several hours later, there was a lightness to her that had been lacking.

"You're sure you wouldn't mind if we come back?" she asked, as she buckled Jenny into her stroller. The baby was asleep, exhausted from her exertion in her walker. 

"It's a big house," he murmured, "and that can be quite lonely. I missed that troublemaker's noise."

Rosie's lips twitched as she looked down at Jenny. "Noise. Right." She looked up at him, then ran quickly up the steps to kiss him softly on the cheek. "I'll consider it."

It felt like his heart had stopped in his chest. "Good," he said, only a little hoarsely. "Very good."

Rosie's own smile was tiny, and she turned and hurried down the steps, putting up her umbrella against the chilly February rain and steering the stroller out onto the sidewalk. Rumpelstiltskin put his hand to his cheek, touching the spot her lips had touched. Almost immediately, he dropped his hand. 

Regina had eyes everywhere, and it would not do to give her ammunition.

His paranoia was realised when Rosie didn't arrive at the usual time. Rumpelstiltskin frowned, glancing at his watch. The arrangement was that she would collect the key from him as he left for the shop, and vice versa on her return, to save her the need to trek to the shop to get it.

He went back into the house, and reluctantly called the apartment where Rosie was staying. 

"Swan."

"Sheriff." Rumpelstiltskin forced his voice to calm. "I was wondering if Rosie had left yet. She hasn't arrived and I have a schedule to keep."

"Rosie?" He could hear the frown in the Sheriff's voice. "She left half an hour ago with Jenny, same time as always. Have you tried her cell..."

Rumpelstiltskin set the telephone down, fear knotting around his stomach. Rosie was never late. She didn't stop anywhere on the way. She was punctual when it came to working, and if she wasn't here on time, then he knew something had to be wrong.

He set out of the house at once, locking the door behind him, and walked the route he knew she took, the shortest path between his house and the Blanchard and Swan apartment. It took him through the main streets of the town, and he knew she would have the stroller with her, which was a much more obvious thing to watch out for. 

He was passing the diner when he saw the telltale tracks of a stroller with wheels wet from a puddle. It had veered off into the alley between the diner and the neighbouring stores. He hurried towards it, spotting the shape of the stroller in the shadows. He could hear Jenny crying from ten feet away, but worse was when he heard Rosie.

It wasn't a scream. 

It was choked and frightened and closer to a whimper.

She couldn't have screamed, not when she was pushed up against a wall, an arm pressed against her throat. Artie Morgan had her pinned there, one hand groping under her skirt, and her face was white with terror. There were scratches on Morgan's face from her nails, and she was tearing at the groping hand, trying to fight him off.

Rumpelstiltskin's cane came down hard across the son of a bitch's head, knocking him spinning. Rosie crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the wall and Rumpelstiltskin planted himself in front of her, baring his teeth at the fallen Morgan. 

"Take Jenny," he ordered Rosie, his voice taut. "Take Jenny and get into the diner. Wait there."

He couldn't look at her, not when he was so angry, not when she was scared. He heard her scrambling along the alley, heard the rattle of the wheels of Jenny's stroller, the baby's cries mingling with Rosie's frightened sobs. He walked mechanically towards the fallen man, who was cursing and spitting.

His cane arced through the air again, knocking Morgan down when he tried to rise. The brass was tinted red with blood, and the man roared in pain. The roars turned into screams and the screams into pleas, and the cane cut through the air again and again with a shrill whistle. 

Morgan would have been nothing but blood and messes on the ground if a hand hadn't caught Rumpelstiltskin's arm in a steely grip.

He turned with a snarl.

"Enough," Emma Swan said, eyes blazing.


	10. Chapter 10

Rosie's knees hurt.

She had skinned them when she fell and there was blood running down her legs. 

Granny had closed the door of the diner and turned the sign, and Ruby was kneeling in front of Rosie, gently wiping her grazed knees. Granny offered to hold Jenny, but Rosie wasn't letting her go, wasn't letting anyone take her, wasn't letting anyone near her, not if that man was still around. She had to keep Jenny safe.

"The Sheriff's outside, girl," Granny said not without gentleness. "I'll call her in and you can tell her what happened."

Rosie shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Nothing happened," she whispered raggedly. 

She couldn't tell Emma what had really gone on. Artie Morgan was looking for a Valentine's special. He'd had it before, and he didn't want to take no for an answer. If she told Emma why Artie thought it he could do that, if she had to confess to Emma that she was a whore, if her only friend who didn't know her crimes had to learn about them...

"You can't let him get away with this," Ruby said, her eyes blazing. "Rosie, you're covered in bruises!" She tugged at the edge of Rosie's skirt, which was torn by Morgan's clumsy hands. "I know what he was trying to do."

Rosie pushed her hands away, shaking. "Don't." Sirens wailed outside and Rosie flinched. "I don't need an ambulance," she said accusingly, stumbling to her feet. "I don't!"

Granny approached the door, frowning. "We didn't call them," she said. "Looks like someone else has a need."

Rosie sobbed. "Mr Gold!" she said, rushing towards the door. "Artie hurt him!"

Granny caught her by the shoulder. "No, girl," she said, pointing to the Sheriff's car.

Rosie stared at the car in confusion. Mr Gold was sitting in the back seat, a grim expression on his face. She could see a spatter of blood on his face. He had hurt Artie? Jenny wailed in her arms and Rosie backed away from the door, sinking down to sit in the seat. 

"Ruby, stay with her," Granny said. "I'll see what this is about."

"Don't tell Emma!" Rosie cried out. "Please don't."

Granny looked at her grimly, but nodded, then hurried out of the door.

"You should tell her," Ruby said, pulling up another chair and clasping Rosie's arm. "Emma's a good person. She would want to help you."

Rosie stared at her, her vision blurred with tears. "How can I tell her?" she whispered. "How could anyone believe you were being raped if you're known as the town whore?"

"Oh, Rosie," Ruby breathed. She pulled her chair closer and wrapped her arms around both Rosie and her baby. 

Rosie couldn't find the strength to pull away. Her whole body was aching, and even if Artie hadn't got as far as he wanted, his hands had got far enough and it hurt. Jenny was crying and she was crying, and everything hurt, and she couldn't tell Emma. She couldn't, because then Emma would know she was a whore and would look at her with the same pity everyone else did. 

The door opened and Rosie looked up fearfully.

Granny closed the door, locked it. "Your man has taken care of that son of a bitch," she said with grim satisfaction. "The ambulance is for him."

"Is... he's not dead, is he?" Rosie whispered, her lips dry and trembling.

Granny shook her head. "On the ground, twitching, and beaten black and blue, but not dead." She came over and crouched down in front of Rosie. "I know it's hard, girl, but you have to tell the Sheriff what happened." Rosie shook her head with a small, frightened whimper. Granny caught her one of her hands. "Mr Gold hasn't told her, but if he won't, you'll have to. She has to know why he did it."

Rosie rocked Jenny closer. Her daughter's arms were tight around her neck and her blouse was wet with Jenny's tears. She rubbed the baby's back gently, wondering if it was possible for the Sheriff to take a child away when her mother confessed to being a prostitute. 

"I want to go home," she whispered.

"To Mary Margaret's?" Ruby asked, rubbing her arm comfortingly.

Rosie shook her head. There was only one place in town where she had ever really felt safe. "Mr Gold's."

Ruby and Granny exchanged looks, and Rosie knew they must think she was crazy, but he had given her a home, and even if things had been bad for a long time, now things were different. She'd told Regina as much, when she admitted she was considering returning to stay with him. He wasn't as terrible as before. He had changed somehow. Regina didn't believe her, no one did, but she knew he cared.

And now, he had saved her from Artie. Saved her and stopped Artie coming after her.

"Please," she said in a small voice.

"I'll drive her," Ruby said, getting up. "The car's out front."

Granny caught Ruby's arm. "Stay with her," she said quietly, as if Rosie wasn't sitting right there. "She'll need company."

"I-I'll be fine," Rosie stammered.

"That's as may be," Granny said, helping her to her feet. "But all the same, she'll do as she's told."

Ruby nodded, heading behind the counter to fetch her keys.

They had to go out of the front door to the car, and a crowd had gathered. Storybrooke wasn't exactly a town where anything happened, so Mr Gold being locked up in the back of the Sheriff's car, while another man was wheeled away, strapped to a gurney, was big news.

Rosie kept her eyes down, grateful that the Sheriff was occupied talking to the ambulance staff. She glanced towards the Sheriff's car. Mr Gold was looking out at her and the concern on his face made her tremble. Rosie broke away from Ruby and walked blindly towards the car, pressing her shaking hand to the glass.

A small, sad smile crossed his face and he lifted his cuffed hands to lay his palm to hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, fresh tears rolling hot down her cheeks.

He inclined his head, then withdrew his hands, waving her away as the Sheriff approached. Rosie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, forcing a trembling smile.

"Hey, Rosie." The Sheriff was frowning. "Are you okay?"

Rosie nodded unsteadily. "Going home," she said. "Too much excitement for one day."

Emma looked her up and down. "Do you know what happened here?"

Rosie shook her head, backing away.

Emma held up a hand, her voice quiet, calming. "Rosie, if you know what happened, you won't be in trouble, I promise."

Rosie looked up at her, shaking her head. "I just want to go home," she whispered. "Please, Emma."

The Sheriff gazed at her, then nodded. "Ruby's taking you?" Rosie nodded. "She'll stay with you for a while, okay? I'll come home when I can."

"No," Rosie whispered. "I'm going home. Mr Gold's."

Emma glanced between her and the man in the car. "Go to Ruby," she instructed. "I'll be over in a second."

Rosie obeyed, and by the time Emma approached the car, she was strapped into the backseat, Jenny nestled against her, tugging at her blouse. Ruby was standing by the open door and exchanged a look with Emma, who nodded as if they had had a long conversation.

Emma leaned down into the car. "Gold said you forgot the keys," she said, holding out the keyring. "He says your room is ready for you." Rosie reached out for the keys and Emma pressed them into her hand, wrapping her fingers briefly around Rosie's. "You know you can come and tell me what happened, Rosie. Any time you're ready."

Rosie stared at her, the words catching in her throat, nodded, and pulled her hand free.

She wrapped her arms around Jenny and didn't say a word as Ruby drove them back to Gold's house. Jenny was growing restless when they entered the house, so she set the baby down into her walker, letting her scoot off across the floor. Her arms empty, she let her hands fall by her sides, feeling hollow.

"How about I make tea?" Ruby suggested, closing the front door behind them. "Or coffee? Or something hot?"

"Camomile," Rosie said quietly. 

Calm would be good.

It felt like her heart wasn't going to slow down from the wild buzz it was currently racing at.

She led Ruby to the kitchen on aching, stiff legs. It felt like she was running on autopilot as Jenny trundled after them, recovered enough from her fright to demand a cookie. Rosie wished it could be as simple for her, as she filled the kettle and fetched Jenny a cookie from the jar.

"Sit down," Ruby urged her. "I'll make the tea. You just sit."

"I'm not sick," she whispered, reaching for cups. "I'm fine."

Her hands belied her and the cups and saucers slipped from her grip, shattering on the tiles of the floor.

Jenny squealed in fright, throwing aside her cookie and reaching out to her mother. Rosie's hands were shaking so much, she could barely pick her daughter up. She fell into one of the seats, rocking Jenny and crooning softly, hating the fact she was crying again and felt like she wouldn't stop.

"I'll take care of it," Ruby said quickly, rushing for the dustpan. Rosie watched blankly as the other girl swept up the mess of broken crockery, put the kettle on to boil and fetched a fresh cookie for Jenny. She even broke it in two, giving Jenny a piece just big enough to fit in her hand.

Jenny snuggled against Rosie's chest, chewing greedily on it, calmer again.

"Thank you," Rosie said in a small voice when Ruby brought the tea over for her.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the Sheriff?" Ruby said quietly. "It doesn't matter what you did before. He didn't have the right to do that to you."

Rosie sipped at the tea. "I don't know," she said finally, unhappily. "What if they think I'm an unfit mother because of what I did? What if they try to take Jenny from me?"

"Gold wouldn't let them," Ruby said. "I saw the way he looked at you. He cares." She reached over to stroke Jenny's hair, earning a stern look from the child. Ruby looked up at her seriously. "If he hasn't told Emma about what Artie was to you..."

Rosie stared at her. Mr Gold was trying to keep her safe. Her and Jenny. He had promised no one would take Jenny from her, and he had been arrested because he hurt a man who had tried to use her as he had a dozen times before and now, he wasn't telling Emma why Artie had come after her.

Artie would lie. Artie would say she offered. Artie would make himself look like the victim.

That would make Mr Gold look like the villain, and she would look even worse if she didn't come clean.

She tried to steady her hand and drink more of her tea. It was a poor substitute, knowing there was the bottle upstairs which could calm her nerves much better, but she couldn't take refuge in that, especially not if she was going to go and confess everything to Emma.

It took over an hour for her to gather her scattered courage and let Ruby drive her down to the Sheriff's station. She swallowed, trying to ignore the bitter burn at the back of her throat, as they walked up the steps. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to speak. She didn't want to be seen for what she was.

"C-can you keep Jenny?" she asked Ruby as they neared the doors. "I don't want her to see a jail."

"Of course," Ruby said. She had her arm around Rosie's shoulders, and Rosie wondered at the fact so many people seemed to be befriending her now. It would have made life so much easier if they had been around before, but no one so much as sneered at her before Emma came to town.

Rosie kissed Jenny's hair, stroking her cheek. "You stay with Ruby, sweetie," she whispered. "Mama has to go and be brave for papa."

Jenny squirmed and wriggled, then giggled as she was swept up into Ruby's arms. 

"We'll wait out here for you," she said, "won't we, dimples?"

Jenny grabbed her hair and tugged on it happily.

Rosie tried to smile, but her lips wouldn't cooperate and her hands were shaking. "I won't be long. Don't go anywhere without me."

Ruby nodded.

Rosie turned to face the doors, forcing herself to walk forward. Her palms were slick with sweat and she stumbled at the door, but made herself step through. Emma was standing by the bars of the cell, talking to - no, at - Mr Gold, who was staring implacably at his hands, which were folded between his knees.

"E-Emma?" Rosie said in a trembling voice. 

The Sheriff whirled around, her arms folded over her chest. Her eyes widened in surprise and she unfolded her arms. "Rosie?" She hurried across the room and Rosie tried not to look at Mr Gold. He didn't need to see how frightened she was. "You okay?"

Rosie looked up at Emma, strong, brave, confident Emma. "No," she whispered. "No, I'm not."

Emma reached out, putting an arm around her shoulders, leading her into the office. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie saw Mr Gold rise from the cot in the cell. He was watching. He was worried. It made things easier, knowing he was there, though, knowing he knew and that it didn't matter if he heard. He'd seen the worst she had done.

Instead of sitting down behind the desk, Emma guided Rosie to sit in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, and sat down in the second. "What's wrong?"

Rosie clasped her hands tightly together in front of her. "I need to tell you what happened," she whispered. "Artie will probably tell you something else, but I want to tell you the truth, so you don't hear it from him."

A warm hand covered hers. "It's okay, Rosie," Emma said softly. "I saw the marks on his face and arms. I know what he was trying to do. I know what Gold stopped, even if he hasn't said a damn thing since I brought him in."

Rosie shook her head, swallowing down a sob. "No," she whispered. "He's trying to protect me." She forced herself to look up at Emma, forced herself to meet the Sheriff's eyes. "Before you came, I-I didn't have a job or any money. I only had Jenny." She twisted her hands over and over one another. "I-I did things I'm ashamed of. Let people... let Artie..." She swallowed hard, her eyes burning. "He thought... things are different now, but he..."

"He thought things were the same?" Emma finished for her quietly, looking at her with dry-eyed calmness. Rosie nodded unsteadily. "You said no. That's what matters. No matter what your relationship with him was, you said no now."

Rosie couldn't smother a small, broken little sob.

"Hey, hey, easy, Rosie, easy," Emma said, putting her arms around her and holding her. It was stiff and it was awkward and Emma wasn't made for being naturally comforting, but she held Rosie, stroked her hair and told her it would be okay, and when she said it, Rosie could almost believe it.

"I'm sorry," Rosie whispered, rubbing at her face with her hand.

Emma lifted her chin gently. "Don't be," she said. "We've all done stuff we regret to get by." She offered Rosie a small, tentative smile. "I guess you missed the election stuff, and all the crap that came out about where Henry was born?"

Rosie stared at her. "I-I must have."

Emma leaned sideways, snatching a box of kleenex from her desk and held it out to Rosie. "I was in jail when he was born," she said.

Rosie's hand closed around a tissue and she stared at the Sheriff. "You?"

Emma nodded. "Everyone has something in their past that they hate, something they don't want anyone to remember," she said, taking one of Rosie's cold hands and squeezing it. "If anyone tells you otherwise, they're either the luckiest people in the world or lying."

Rosie looked at their linked hands. "I thought..." She laughed dully. "I didn't want you to think badly of me."

Emma's fingers were warm and firm around hers. "I base my opinions on what I see of people," she said, "not what they've done in the past." She waited until Rosie looked up and met her eyes. "You're a strong girl, Rosie. You survived up until now. That's more than a lot of people would have done."

"I'm not strong," Rosie said in a small voice. "I'm scared. I'm scared all the time."

"But you don't let it hold you back," Emma said. "You go out. You talk to people. That's braver than not being scared at all." She squeezed Rosie's hand again. "Now, I need to ask you something, and I know it's hard, but I have to ask."

Rosie nodded, knowing what was coming. "You want me to press charges."

Emma met her eyes and nodded. "He can't get away with this."

Rosie turned enough in the chair to look at Mr Gold. "If I press charges against Artie," she said quietly, "he'll press charges against Mr Gold."

"Probably," Emma said quietly. "But Gold went too far. He could have just stopped him and called on me. Assault and battery is a serious offence."

Rosie twisted the kleenex between her hands. "Can I speak to him?" she asked. 

Emma pushed her chair back. "Go ahead," she said. "You don't need to press charges right away, but I will need to take a statement after you speak to Gold."

Rosie's throat felt tight at the thought, but she nodded, rising and approaching the cell. Mr Gold was standing, his hands resting against the crossbar, watching her with concern.

"Hi," she said, twisting the kleenex tighter and tighter, wondering how long it would be until it snapped.

"Hey," he said just as quietly. He searched her face. "What are you doing here, Rosie?"

She swallowed hard. "Telling Emma the truth," she said. "If she didn't know why he did it, why you did it..." She shook her head. "I couldn't just leave you here."

He stared at her. "You didn't have to do that, sweetheart," he said.

She reached out a trembling hand and touched his where it rested on the bars. "Yes I did," she whispered. He spread his fingers and hers slipped between them, and for a moment, they just held on to one another. It felt right. Safe and steady and right. For the first time in hours, she felt a moment of calm. "She wants me to press charges," she finally said, looking at him.

"The choice is yours," he murmured. 

She nodded, squeezing his hand. "I should go," she said quietly. "I-I want to get out of these clothes." Her eyes pricked again. "I'm sorry he tore the skirt, Mr Gold. I tried to stop him."

"Hush, dearie, hush," he said. He hesitated, then reached through the bars with his other hand and cupped her cheek. The warmth of his hand, the gentleness, made her tremble, remembering that one night they had shared, when she had believed he might care for her. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all."

Her voice broke when she whispered, "Say that again."

"You did nothing wrong," he said again fiercely. "Not a damned thing. Not ever." He brushed his thumb along her cheek, sweeping away the hot tears. "If you want to charge him, if you want him locked away, you do that."

"But he'll get you charged," Rosie whispered, tilting her cheek into his touch. "I don't want to see you locked away."

"I don't matter in all this," he said. "Rosie, you need to be safe."

She held his hand against her cheek, tilting head head to kiss the heel of his hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

She shrugged. "For helping me to be brave? For saving me? For not being who you were before?"

"Oh, Rosie," he said, so softly she could barely hear him. "Go. Go home. Take care of Jenny. I'll be out of here soon enough."

She nodded, squeezing his fingers once more. "Ruby," she said quietly. "Is it okay if she stays with me? Just for a little while?"

"As long as you need her there," he said. "As long as you're safe."

In the end, the decision was easily made.

Ruby was playing with Jenny downstairs, and Rosie went to her bedroom. With shivering hands, she undressed in front of the full length mirror and made herself look. She made herself look at the bruising across her throat. She made herself look at the scratches and marks of cruel hands on her legs and arms. She stood naked in front of the glass and saw all the damage Artie had done and the crime he would get away with if she didn't speak.

Each piece of clothing was folded and she carefully packed it into a plastic bag to be taken to Emma. Rosie fetched a camera from Mr Gold's study and photographed each and every mark Artie had left on her skin. It didn't matter that there were witnesses. She knew that. What mattered was the evidence.

Only when that was done did she run a bath that was so hot she went red almost instantly, and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed herself until her skin was raw. There were no tears left to shed, and her throat felt as tender as her flesh when she emerged.

She pulled on thick, warm pyjamas that covered her from neck to toe, then wrapped herself up tight in a dressing gown. 

Rosie sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet. The bottle was still there. Untouched. Ruby was staying. Ruby was holding Jenny. Ruby would understand. She lifted the bottle out and stared at it for a long while. She hurt. Hurt all over. She was tired and broken and sad and hollow, and as much as Mr Gold has saved her, she knew she might not see him for a long time if Artie pressed charges.

The seal broke easily and the burn in her throat was of a different kind.


	11. Chapter 11

"She's a brave girl."

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at the Sheriff. "You have no idea," he said.

She folded her arms, rocking on the balls of her feet outside of the cell. "I wouldn't bet on that," she said. She had just taken Rosie's statement and the girl had left with Ruby, which was some small comfort. It would have been crueller still if she had been left alone. "If she doesn't press charges, I'm going to have to call on you as witness. You'll have to give me a statement of what you saw."

"It won't be necessary," he said quietly. "She'll press charges."

Emma watched him. "You seem pretty sure of it."

"I know this woman," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. "She's braver than she realises." He looked up at her. "You'll need to interrogate that bastard."

"Won't be much of an interrogation," Emma said. "You really did a number on him, Gold."

Rumpelstiltskin laced his fingers together. "I've seen him assault her before," he said abruptly. "It wasn't going to happen a second time. He had been warned." One side of his mouth turned up. "I'm a man of my word, Sheriff Swan, a fact Mr Morgan is well aware of."

"That's no excuse," the Sheriff said. "You could have called on me."

"Because your presence would make the lecherous brute quail in fear?" Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "No offence, Sheriff Swan, but I believe my method of dissuasion is much more effective."

"And that's why you're going to end up behind those bars indefinitely when Morgan presses charges," she pointed out. 

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at her, meeting her steady and honest gaze head on. "Tell him good luck with that," he said with a tight little smile. "Tell him I look forward to hearing from his lawyer." He leaned back against the wall. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

The Sheriff frowned, but unfolded her arms. "I'll be back in an hour," she said. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, closing his eyes.

Closing his eyes was the mistake. The image of Rosie - Belle - beneath that man, pressed against the wall, terrified, bruised, broken, by that man crept across his mind's eye. He shouldn't have beaten the man, he knew that. He should have called on the Sheriff. He should have stayed with Rosie. She looked so shattered, and Ruby didn't know Rosie's fragile mental state like he did. 

There was no alcohol in the house. He had made sure of that, ever since the day of the shattered dishes. He had emptied out all the cupboards, all the cabinets, taken away all temptation. There wasn't even a single bottle of cooking wine, so unless they went to the store or unless Rosie was left alone by Ruby, he hoped she would be all right.

The office door creaked.

Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes enough to look sidelong.

It was no great surprise to see Regina slinking into the station, taking advantage of the Sheriff's absence.

"Madam Mayor," he murmured, sitting up a little straighter. "Taking an interest in your voters for once?"

"I heard about Mr Morgan's misfortune," she said, smiling sweetly. "You took it all a little personally, didn't you, Mr Gold?"

He smiled thinly. "Pardon me if I don't take pleasure in seeing a woman assaulted against her will," he said.

"That's very unlike you," she said, strolling closer.

He smiled tautly. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought."

"I know you well enough," she said, perching on the arm of the couch. "How's my friend doing?"

"Your friend." He echoed her, his voice flat. 

"Who helped her when you threw her out, Mr Gold?" she said sweetly. "Who found her a home? Who made sure your bastard had a roof over her head?"

Rumpelstiltskin rose from the bunk, wrapping his hands around the bars of the cell and baring his teeth. "That doesn't make you her friend," he said.

Regina's lips twitched. "Such hostility over someone you don't give a damn about."

"She's my staff," Rumpelstiltskin gritted out, hating himself for saying the words. "I own her. I don't like it when my property is damaged."

Regina studied him in silence for a moment, then rose. "Perhaps I should go and visit her," she said. 

"Please don't." The words snapped out like gunshots.

Regina went rigid and her hands clenched into fists. "Don't test me, Gold," she said. "You're the one in the wrong here. You're the one who threw her out. You're the one who just beat a man to a bloody paste in a fit of temper. One word to the right people and she'll be taken into protective custody and you'll never see her or your little brat again."

Rumpelstiltskin's hands tightened around the bars to and beyond the point of bearable pain and he stepped back, fingers twitching. Magic. He needed magic. Magic to flay her skin from her bones and boil her blood in her veins. "You have no right."

"I have every right," she replied, stepping closer to the bars and glaring in at him. "You brought this on yourself." She narrowed her dark eyes at him. "You're a dangerous man, Gold. Why should I leave my friend Rosie in your care? Everyone can see you're manipulating her. Stockholm syndrome, some would say."

"Leave her be," Rumpelstiltskin growled. 

"Or you'll what?" Regina challenged, wrapping her hands around the bars, all but pressing against them. "Kill me? Hurt me? Take away everything important to me?" She snorted, sliding her hands up the bars. "You can't do worse than you already have."

He stepped closer to the bars, pleased to notice that she stepped back. Still wary. Good. "What do you want, Regina?" he asked, his voice low.

She paced back and forth in front of the cage, looking in at him. "I have two questions for you to answer," she said. "One for the mother. One for the child."

He rested his hands against the crossbars. "Go on."

"I want your name."

"You know my name," he murmured, curling his fingers over the edge of the bars.

"Your real name."

He met her eyes and smiled. "You know that too." He pressed his face between the bars, remembering another cell, another time, another place. "Say it. If you dare." He smirked at her, darkly. "If you can."

She looked torn between shock that he knew and acknowledged it, and fury at his challenge. For all that she liked to taunt him, ever since their first meeting, she had tripped herself up over his name. "How?"

"It's quite simple," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. "Phonetically."

She waved his words away with a sharp gesture. "You remember."

"Oh, I remember, your Majesty," he said, his tongue rolling the title around like poison. "Question one. You have your answer. As for how..."

She wrapped her hand around a bar above his hand. "That I know," she said. "Miss Swan. Our precious Sheriff."

He bared his teeth. "You still had your second question."

"Which you didn't answer," she retorted sharply. "That was the arrangement."

His grip on the bars tightened until his knuckles were white. "So your second question."

She tapped her fingers against the bars, watching his face. "You will do what I need you to do and what I ask you to do from now. You will not assist the Sheriff in any but the most basic of ways. You will not stand in my path. You will not show her how to break the curse. Will you do that?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And why would I do it?"

Regina smiled at him. "I could always find more of Rosie's clients," she said. 

Rumpelstiltskin pulled back from the bars, knowing that wrapping his hands around her throat would do no one any good, not now, not yet, not when her death could seal the curse properly. "You sent Morgan after her," he said flatly.

Regina shrugged, smiling coyly. "I just mentioned to him that it was a shame he would be alone on Valentine's day, when she was working so hard in the other part of town," she said. "If he took that to mean something else..."

"You twisted bitch," Rumpelstiltskin snarled.

"Oh, I'm twisted?" Regina retorted, reaching through and grabbing his tie, pulling him hard against the bars, bringing their faces so close that he could feel the heat of her furious breaths. "Who traded me like meat? Who bought me like a shiny trinket? Who twisted me up and turned me around?"

"I may have shown you a path, dearie," he hissed, "but I didn't make you walk it."

"Right," she sneered. "Just like you didn't make that girl walk out your doors, violated and pregnant with your bastard. You knew what you turned me into, just like you knew what you had done to her." She released his tie, as if it was soiled. "You ruin people."

He was breathing heavily, raggedly, his hands clenching into fists. She wasn't wrong, and that was what was cutting at him, more than anything. Belle and Bae. Both had made the mistake of loving him, and both of them had been cast out and suffered for it. "Damn you," he whispered. "Damn you."

"It's a simple question, Rumpel," Regina said, her own voice trembling with fury. "Will you do it? Will you do what I ask you? Yes or no?"

He thought of Rosie, turned back onto the streets and bruised and beaten and violated. He thought of Jenny, torn from her mother and out of his reach forever. 

"Yes," he said, raising his eyes to her face. "Until the curse is broken."

Relief flooded Regina's face. "You've got a long term of service ahead of you," she said, stepping back. "Thank you, dear."

"If anything should happen to me," he said quietly, his voice low and flat, "please ensure she is safe and well."

Regina scowled at him. "Fine," she said abruptly. "But no more of that." She smoothed her jacket. "I expect you'll need a good word to get you out of here?"

"Hardly, dearie," he said quietly and calmly. The anger was better contained, stored up and served cold. "The Sheriff will learn that when she visits my client." He smiled a brief little smile. "Morgan never was the brightest bulb in the box."

Regina shook her head. "Always planning," she murmured. "You never did tell me why."

"No," he agreed. "I didn't." He sank to sit back down on the bunk and leaned back against the wall, folding his hands in his lap and closing his eyes. 

If she said anything else to him, he no longer listened or cared, his mind whirring. He could not help Emma, and nor could he go against Regina directly. There would be ways and means, loopholes to take advantage of, but it would have to be done with care. Rosie and Jenny needed to be protected.

It wasn't until a good couple of hours later that the door opened again.

Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes.

"Sheriff Swan."

The woman stalked across the the office towards the cell. "You didn't mention you were a lawyer," she said.

"You didn't ask," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. He sat up on the bunk. "Did Mr Morgan have anything to say for himself?"

She pulled the keys from her pocket and unlocked the cell. "He isn't pressing charges. He says he ran into your cane several times, and that he's sorry for the damage caused," she said, pulling the door open. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You manage to exert a lot of influence even behind bars."

Rumpelstiltskin rose. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sheriff," he said. "I should be getting home."

She caught his arm before he could walk past her. "If this happens again, I don't care if they're pressing charges or not, Gold," she said. "I'll have you locked up if I have to testify myself. No matter the reason."

He looked down at her hand, then back at her face. "Thank you, Sheriff," he said. "Now, if you'll sign my release?"

She glared at him, but released his arm and handed him his cane, then stormed back to her desk. The anger wasn't purely directed at him, but at the would-be rapist and the fact that Rosie hadn't confirmed she was pressing charges. He didn't say anything as she pulled out the relevant forms, completing the boxes and shoved it across the desk to him.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down, reading through the form, then put pen to paper.

"She will be in to press charges," he said quietly.

Emma sagged back in her chair, hands laced over her belly. "I hope you're right," she said. "That guy's a creep, and if he's going to attack women in broad daylight, I want him off the streets." She looked at him. "If she doesn't, will you stand as witness? The state can charge him, I think."

"Whatever keeps her safe, I'll do," Rumpelstiltskin said, meeting the Sheriff's eyes.

Emma tapped her fingers against each other. "I don't get you, Gold," she said, sitting upright suddenly. "Rosie hasn't told me much, but I've heard enough about you kicking her out with her kid. What changed?"

He looked at the handle of his cane, then at her. "I remembered what was important," he said. "Not soon enough to prevent damage, but I won't let her be harmed again, that I guarantee."

She looked at him intently. "You better not," she said. "You hurt that girl again, and I'm coming after you." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "Screw the law. I have access to a taser and I sure as hell have no problems with using it."

He looked up at the woman who was the Saviour. "I believe you," he said. He rose. "With your permission, I'll be on my way."

She jerked her head towards the door. "You're free to go."

He was home within fifteen minutes, and rapped lightly on the front door. It was Ruby who answered it, peering through the coloured panels, and he saw the shock on her face before she opened the door.

"Mr Gold?"

"Indeed, dearie," he said, nudging the door wider. "If you don't mind, I would rather like to get into my house."

She stepped back, staring at him. "I didn't think you'd be back tonight," she said.

He plucked her coat down from the rack and held it out to her. "Mr Morgan's lawyer gave him some very worthwhile advice," he said. "Now, if you don't mind, you'll no longer be needed." She took her coat, but looked at him dubiously. "She's asleep?"

"They both are," Ruby replied. "Upstairs.” She stepped closer to him, bold even without her grandmother there to hold her hand, her eyes sparking defiance. “I told her I'd stay."

"And you stayed as long as you were needed." He gestured to the door. "You're no longer needed."

For a moment, it almost looked like she would bare her teeth at him, but instead, she pulled her coat on with unnecessary violence and scowled. “You tell her to call me if she needs company,” she said. “Granny won’t mind.”

For that protectiveness, at least, Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “Thank you, Miss Lucas. She’ll need friends.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You don’t need to tell me that,” she said, then stalked towards the front door. She paused there, her hand on the handle, then glanced back at him. “She’s got all the stuff together to take to the Sheriff tomorrow.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “I thought she might.” He drummed the fingers of one hand atop the other on his cane handle, looking at her pointedly. “Good night, Miss Lucas.”

She pulled the door shut behind her, but was courteous enough not to slam it. Only then did he let out the breath he felt that he had been holding since the moment he realised that Rosie was late. 

He wanted to go to her, to tell her she was safe now, and that there was nothing to worry about, but if she was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her.

He went to the kitchen instead, filling the kettle as quietly as he could, and making himself a pot of tea. For over thirty years, it had been his comfort in moments when he was restless and frustrated. Less potent than alcohol or woodspirit, but in the forest, it had reminded him of her and the peace she had briefly given him.

He carried the cup over to the window, looking out into the darkness.

There was much to be done, but if he was to do it without breaching the terms of the deal that Regina had put in place, he would have to think even more carefully. He could not play an open ally to Miss Swan in terms of the curse, but that was not to say he couldn’t assist her in other matters. 

Above him, he heard the creak of floorboards. 

Rosie was up.

Rumpelstiltskin made his way towards the stairs, cup in one hand, cane in the other. If she was up, she deserved to know what was going on, and he had no intention of leaving her unaware of his return. 

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a thump, then Jenny started screaming and Rosie’s voice rang out, terrified. “Ruby! Ruby! Help!”

It should have been impossible to run with his lame leg, but the teacup fell from his hand, and with cane and banister, he raced up the stairs as quickly as he could. Jenny was still screaming, high-pitched and it wasn’t the sound of fear or hunger. It was the sound of pain.

He threw open the door of the room and took in the scene in the blink of an eye.

Rosie was sitting on the floor by the crib. She was sobbing. Jenny was in her lap, clinging on to her, and there was blood running from a gash on the baby’s brow, but Rosie wasn’t touching her or hugging her. Rosie wasn’t touching her daughter, her hands trembling, inches from Jenny’s body.

Rosie looked up at him, staring, wild-eyed. “Take her!” she sobbed. “Take her! Don’t let me touch her!”

Rumpelstiltskin crossed the floor, falling heavily onto his knees, and forced himself to be calm, kneeling close beside them.

He reached out, his own hand trembling, and gently stroked Jenny’s hair. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

She stared at him, still wailing and he stroked her hair, her back, gently, murmuring soothingly to her. Little by little, he slipped his hands under her body and lifted her over into his lap, rocking her and stroking her hair. She squirmed and wriggled, but he murmured and hummed and held her close until the wails tapered off into soft, snuffling little sobs.

“You’re all right,” he whispered, rocking her from side to side. “You’re all right, lamb.”

Her mother, on the other hand, seemed frozen with terror against the crib.

Rumpelstiltskin looked up from Jenny. “Rosie, what happened?” he asked, keeping his voice soft as he pulled out his kerchief and carefully wiped Jenny’s face. Jenny whimpered, pushing his hand away and hiding her face in his shirt.

“Fell,” Rosie whispered. “Sh-she fell. I-I-I was trying to lift her. Hands. Slipped.” her hands were shivering in front of her chest and she was shaking. “Fell.” Tears spilled down her ashen face. “Sorry. M’sorry.”

There was a telltale slur in her voice and his heart sank.

“Rosie,” he said, taking a steadying breath. “How much did you have?”

She pressed her knuckles to her forehead, a thin whine of pain escaping her. “I had to stop it hurting. I had to.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, remembering the first taste of magic so long ago, the first taste of power, and the pain he had inflicted on his own son because of it. “It’s all right, love,” he said, holding up a hand. “It’s an accident. Just a little accident.”

She shook her head, whimpering, her hands pressing over her eyes, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears from escaping.

He looked at their daughter. For all the screaming, Jenny had calmed quickly, although the cut on her forehead was still a nasty one. “Rosie, we need to take Jenny to the hospital,” he murmured, remembering just how fragile babies could be, and just how dangerous head injuries could become. 

Rosie slammed back against the side of the cradle, as if he had told her she had killed the child. “Oh God, oh God, oh God… they’ll know. They’ll know it was my fault…”

“Rosie.” He said her name short and sharp, enough to startle her out of her panic. “It’s not a bad wound, but we should have it cleaned and checked. She fell off the bed, okay? She was climbing and she fell. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But I…”

“Rosie, think about Jenny,” he said, meeting her eyes. “We need to take Jenny and make sure she’s all right. Do you understand?” Bloodshot blue eyes stared at him and Rosie nodded wordlessly. “Get dressed. I’ll take Jenny down to the car.” He hesitated, catching the scent of alcohol on her breath, then added, “Bring mints, if you have them.”

It took persuasion to make her hold their daughter in the car, even sitting and strapped in, and by the time they reached the hospital, Jenny was halfway to sleep against her mother’s shoulder.

“I can’t carry her in,” Rosie whispered, anguished. “I can’t.”

With the child grumbling in complaint, Rumpelstiltskin lifted her up in his left arm. He tried not to pay attention to the way her small fists clutched at his jacket and shirt, or the way she nestled her head against his shoulder, or the small sounds she made as she snuggled closer to him. He couldn’t pay attention to that, not now, not with Rosie trembling at his side.

Nurse Hightower was the one to meet them at the door, and she looked from one face to the other in wary confusion.

“Mr Gold?”

“Miss French’s daughter took a tumble from the bed,” he said, his voice clipped. “She knocked her head on the foot of the bedside cabinet and had a bit of a fright. Her mother insists we have her checked.”

Nurse Hightower glanced at Rosie, who nodded. “I-I turned away for a minute,” she said, her voice trembling, “and she must have rolled.” She looked anxiously at their daughter. “Please, will she be all right?”

“We’ll check her over,” Hightower said, smiling reassuringly.

In the end, the worst was that Jenny screamed herself hoarse, indignant at being prodded and poked by a stranger in an unfamiliar place. Rosie sat by the bedside, soothing and petting her daughter to calm her, and Rumpelstiltskin stood behind her.

When the nurse left them to fetch some kind of ointment, Rumpelstiltskin squeezed Rosie’s shoulder in a wordless gesture of comfort. She was still trembling, but was calmer, her attention wholly on their child, but she lifted her hand to squeeze his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He drew his hand from beneath hers. “It’s no matter,” he murmured, the echo of Regina’s words ringing in his ears: you ruin people.

Rosie insisted on carrying to paperwork and ointments, so he carried Jenny back to the car, and once they were home, he carried the child back up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her mother. He knew he couldn’t indulge himself in holding the girl, when the chance would not come again. 

When Rosie was dry again, he had no doubt she would be holding their child as zealously as ever.

Jenny groused as he set her down in her crib, and he let his fingers brush across her hair. 

“Sleep well, lamb,” he murmured, not daring to look at Rosie as he withdrew his hand.

Rosie approached to stand beside him, looking down into the cradle. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“What for, dearie?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes from their daughter, so small and peaceful and close.

“Everything,” Rosie whispered, her voice breaking. “For bringing that man into your life, for getting you in trouble, for hurting…”

He turned sharply to face her, catching her by the shoulders and making her turn to look at him. “Stop that,” he said. “Stop apologising. None of this was your fault. None of it.” She stared at him, bewildered. “Rosie, all that’s happened to you, it’s been my fault.” He was shaking her, shaking her as he had so long ago, and he tore his hands away, turning away to leave her in peace. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Her hand caught his arm before he could walk from the room.

Rumpelstiltskin looked down at it, then at her.

“Stay,” she said, her voice steady.

He shook his head, his throat dry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“So you’ll leave me alone?” she said in a breathless whisper. “You’re the only person who I feel safe around. You make it easier to forget that I-I need… you help me be strong.”

He shook his head, unable to look at her. “That’s… that’s a mistake,” he said, trying to find the strength to pull his arm from her hand. “I’m a bad person for you to be involved with, Rosie. You should go back to Emma’s.”

“No.”

He turned to look at her, startled. “No?”

She looked at him, stern-faced and resolute. All that was missing was a golden dress and the distant roar of ogres. “I want to be here,” she said. “You’ve turned me away once. Do you want me to go?”

He knew he should say yes. He knew he should send her away. It was for her own good, but all he could do was shake his head, and blink hard against the burning in his eyes. “Rosie,” he breathed out, “Sweetheart, you need to be with someone better.”

She laughed unsteadily, shaking her head and lowering her eyes. “I don’t know how many men I have slept with,” she said quietly, “but there’s only one man that I ever wanted to touch me and I need that. I need that tonight.” She raised her eyes to him. “Please stay.” Her breath caught, trembling over the words. “I can’t be alone tonight. I can’t.” She reached out a trembling hand, pressed it to his chest. “Please?”

“Rosie,” he whispered, covering her hand on his chest. “Gods, Rosie…”

The cane fell from his other hand and he brushed his fingers against her cheek.

When they ended up clinging to one another, he couldn’t say who had moved first, but all at once, they were two survivors, a last hope, and for a moment, he felt like he could be forgiven as she buried her face in his chest and wept.


	12. Chapter 12

Rosie woke with a shrill cry at the memory of a hand at her throat and another groping under her skirt. It was dark and her legs were tangled in the sheets, and there was a body, a person, living and breathing, next to her on the bed.

The person shifted, stirred. “Rosie?”

Mr Gold. That was Mr Gold’s voice. That was right. He had stayed with her. He had held her. He let her cry and didn’t say anything cruel or hurtful, and he had stayed.

She tried to steady her breathing, but her chest felt tight and her mouth dry.

He shifted and something rattled, then the bedside lamp was switched on. He looked dishevelled, half-asleep, but he wasn’t in the bed with her. He was on top of the covers. He hadn’t even taken his tie off. He was holding her as she slept, and he didn’t even crawl into the bed with her like so many men would have done. 

“Dream,” she whispered hoarsely.

He pushed himself upright at once, pulling the pillows against the headboard and leaning back against them. Then he held out an arm, cautious, uncertain. “Do you…” He faltered, and she knew what he was asking, and as fast as her heart was racing, as scared as she was, she knew she wouldn’t feel safer anywhere but beside him.

Rosie tugged the sheets back into place, then moved closer to him, resting her head against his chest. His heart was beating as fast as hers. She curled her arms tight across her chest, drawing breath after quivering breath between her teeth.

“You’re safe,” he said, his arm settling awkwardly around her. His hand was so warm on her shoulder through the flimsy t-shirt she was wearing, and she could feel his fingers curling into her hair that was heavy around her shoulders. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”

She curled her fingers against her collarbone, shivering. “Why?” she whispered.

His breath escaped in a rush against the top of her head. “You and Jenny,” he said after a silence that seemed to last forever. “You belong with me. Together.”

If it had been a year and a half ago, if it had been a year ago, it if had even been a month ago, it would have made her smile, and hug him as tightly as she could, but it wasn’t. It was now, and she was bruised and aching and so tired.

“Oh.” It was all she could think of to say.

He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Sleep,” he suggested.

Rosie nodded, his shirt rustling against her ear, and closed her eyes. “Leave the light on,” she said quietly, when he reached for the lamp. “Please.”

“Of course,” he said quietly, his fingers drawing through her hair, so gently that she wanted to weep. She didn’t flinch when his hand brushed across the bruises on her neck and shoulder, but she must have tensed, because his hand settled and he didn’t move again.

She tried not to think of what had happened, tried to ignore the dull ache between her thighs, the sick feeling at the back of her throat. Instead, she listened to Mr Gold’s heartbeat. It had slowed, steadier now, and his chest rose and fell beneath her ear, soft and steady.

Her own seemed to slow in response, calming, and when she turned onto her back, then onto her other side when the aches in her bruises became too much, he moved with her. She reached blindly, halfway to sleep, and caught his wrist, drawing him against her back, as if he were just another of the sheets on the bed. His hand was trembling, but she hardly noticed, hugging his arm against her chest. It felt right. Safe.

“M’sr Gold,” she murmured, her eyes too heavy to open.

“Yes?” he whispered into her hair.

Her lips twitched tiredly. “Thank you.”

She didn’t hear him reply, but she felt his lips press to her hair. Good. That was good.

When she woke next, light was filtering through the curtains. She always left them open a crack, a habit she hadn’t been able to break, to let the first of the daylight in. The nightmares had been kept at bay, but when she turned onto her back, the bed beside her was empty.

A piece of paper lay where Mr Gold had the night before.

Rosie picked it up, squinting at it.

Jenny woke. She was hungry. Went downstairs to make breakfast.

Rosie stared at it blankly for a moment, then frowned. Jenny was awake, but she couldn’t hear any sound. She pushed back the sheets and crawled to the end of the bed, looking into the cradle. Her heart felt like it stopped in her chest. The cradle was empty.

Rosie scrambled from the bed, looking wildly around the room, then raced through the door and towards the stairs. “Jenny! Jenny!”

She was on the landing, halfway down the stairs, when Gold opened the kitchen door, Jenny in his left arm. Rosie all but jumped down the staircase in two steps and snatched her daughter from his arms, hugging her tightly. “Don’t do that!” she sobbed, as Jenny squalled. “Don’t ever do that!”

Mr Gold drew back as if she had struck him. “I-I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “She was hungry and you were sleeping. I thought you might like to rest.”

Rosie’s legs felt like they were sinking beneath her and she crumpled into a heap on the floor, rocking Jenny. “Don’t take her away,” she whispered, stroking Jenny’s hair with a shaking hand. “Please don’t take her away.”

He stood helplessly in the doorway, then walked closer, one step, two step. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him being angry with her for being so broken. She already had hurt Jenny. Who was to say he wouldn’t be better for Jenny? Who could say he wouldn’t take better care of her?

He knelt down in front of her, not touching. “Rosie,” he said. His voice was quiet. Sad. Not angry. “Rosie, look at me.”

Rosie forced her eyes up, forced herself to look at him. He was pale, and she knew she probably was too, and Jenny was crying in her arms, scared by her mother's fear.

Mr Gold put out a hand to her, palm up and open. "I made you a promise that I wouldn't take her from you," he said, his voice gentle, as if he was trying to calm and wild animal. Maybe that's what she was: something wild and broken and dangerous. She looked down at Jenny, who was clinging to her, at the plaster on Jenny's head, at the tears on her daughter's face. She was hurting and scaring her child. Jenny was hurt and scared by her. "Rosie," Mr Gold said again. There was a shiver in his voice. "Me. Look at me."

She lifted her face. Her lips were trembling and she felt that hot, painful feeling at the back of her throat. "I hurt her," she whispered.

"It was an accident," Mr Gold said. "Rosie, it was an accident. You didn't mean to hurt her, did you? You would never want to hurt her."

She shook her head, hugging Jenny closer. Jenny squirmed irritably, pushing against her arms. "I-I shouldn't have drunk last night," she whispered. 

"It was a bad day," Mr Gold murmured. 

She met his eyes, trying her best not to cry. "No excuses," she whispered. "I have to stop being scared. I can't hurt her again." She felt the tears breaking free and rolling hot and heavy down her cheeks. "I-I need help. I can't do this without help."

Mr Gold nodded. "Take my hand, sweetheart," he said. "I'm here."

Her fingers shook when she grasped his. "What do we do?" she asked. 

He squeezed her hand gently. "There's a psychiatrist in town," he said. "He's... a decent man. I think you could trust in his discretion."

Rosie nodded, looking down at Jenny. "He... he won't tell anyone to take Jenny away?"

"He's a doctor," Mr Gold said. "There's doctor-patient confidentiality. He's there to treat you, not to judge you."

Jenny wriggled in her arms and squealed in indignation when she wasn't released.

Mr Gold laughed ruefully. "I think she might still be hungry," he said. "I was trying to work out what she eats."

Rosie struggled up to her feet, holding Jenny tightly. "She's on solids," she said, setting Jenny on her hip. Jenny sank her fists into her hair, tugging demandingly. Rosie looked down at Mr Gold, kneeling where he was on the floor, wondering how much his poor leg must be hurting him. She hesitated, then offered him her hand to help him up.

His hand was warm around hers, but he pushed himself up, using her as leverage to help him. His cane was nowhere to be seen. "I left it in the kitchen," he said with a grimace. "My hands were a little full."

She swallowed hard. It felt strange to be the one supporting him, when he was the strong one. "Here," she said, offering her arm. "I'll help you through."

He looked at her, with a strange, lost expression in his eyes. "Thank you."

They negotiated the way through to the kitchen, Mr Gold leaning heavily on her left arm. As soon as they were through, he reached out, supporting himself against the counter, and made his way to an array of food that he had spread there. 

Rosie followed. "Were you going to feed an army?" she asked quietly.

He offered her a rueful smile. "I was hoping she would point at something she liked, but she's too young for that," he said. He gestured to the selection. "Would an omelette suit her? Or scrambled eggs? Or porridge? Or mashed fruit?"

Rosie looked from the counter to him. "Why are you being so kind?"

He didn't look at her, his hands resting against the edge of the counter. "She's my daughter," he said quietly. "And I've treated both of you badly. I know some little kindness can't undo what has been done." He looked at her, his expression so grave and sad that her breath caught. "But I want to try."

Rosie shifted Jenny in her arm, looking at him, then laid her hand on his for a moment. "She likes scrambled eggs," she said. "And buttery toast. Just a little brown."

One side of his mouth turned up, just a little. "I'll see what I can concoct," he said. "What about you?"

Rosie lifted Jenny over onto her other hip. Her back was aching where she was bruised, and her right hip hadn't got away unscathed. "Same," she said. "With tea?"

He nodded. "Sit, dear," he said. He looked over at the table. "We should get her a high chair."

Rosie shook her head. "She sits with me," she said, taking the nearest seat and setting Jenny in her lap. Her - their daughter - clapped her hands firmly on the table top and babbled emphatically. Rosie wrapped her arms snugly around Jenny's waist. She didn't even seem to have noticed the plaster or that her head was hurt.

Mr Gold had rolled his sleeves of his shirt up - he was still in the same clothes from the night before - and was mixing the eggs. Now that she looked at him, he looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he had just spent the whole night watching over her.

Jenny complained noisily, smacking the table again.

"It's coming, sweetie," she murmured, nuzzling Jenny's hair. She lifted Jenny up to sit on the edge of the table, and told her softly, "Papa is making you something nice to eat."

There was a clatter. Mr Gold had dropped the skillet.

"A-are you all right?"

He looked over at her, a dazed expression on his face. "Yes. Yes. All right," he said. "I'm all right." He picked up the skillet and stirred at the eggs, then looked over at her again. "You said..." He hesitated, looking back at the pan. "Papa. Am I papa?"

Rosie bit her lip uneasily, unsure if she had spoken out of turn. "Do you mind?"

He stared down at the pan. "No," he said finally. "I don't mind."

Rosie turned her attention back to Jenny, her cheeks flushed. It was the first time she had made such a suggestion, and even though he had acknowledged Jenny as his daughter, it felt like it was something new, something much more important for him to accept that he was her papa. A papa who wanted to make her breakfast and get her a high chair to sit in and let her mother sleep. 

She didn't know what had changed in him, but it was something for the better.

A few minutes later, he brought their food over to them, her eggs steaming, and a smaller bowl for Jenny. She lifted Jenny down from the table, hesitated then offered, "Do you want to feed her?"

Mr Gold froze where he was bent over the table, laying down their dishes, looked at her. "Me?"

She made herself nod. "I'd like to eat my food while it's hot. If... you could feed her for me, if you like."

Mr Gold looked at Jenny. "I'd like that," he said, his voice catching.

She reached over with her free hand and tugged another chair closer. "Here. Sit," she said, knowing that unless he did so right away, she would change her mind and pull back. To her surprise, he sat at once and when she leaned over and set Jenny in his lap, the look on his face made her wonder how she could ever believe he didn't love Jenny.

He put one arm around her, smiling uncertainly when their child looked up at him, then imperiously reached up and shoved her fingers in his mouth. 

"Jenny," Rosie chastised, trying to hide a smile. 

Mr Gold surprised her then, by growling playfully and worrying at Jenny's hand, making her squeal with laughter. She pulled her fingers back and batted at his arm. 

"You should feed her before she gets grumpy," Rosie murmured, watching them. 

He reached for the spoon sticking out of the bowl of scrambled egg, and glanced at Rosie. "Is this a test?" he asked.

For a moment, she almost felt like she could smile truly. "We'll see," she said, picking up her fork to eat her own breakfast.

In the end, he didn't do too badly, although a portion of Jenny's breakfast ended up rubbed into his shirt and even into his hair. From the look on his face, he couldn't have been happier about it. He drank he cup of tea, watching Jenny gnawing vigorously on a crust of toast.

Rosie leaned over to smooth Jenny's curls, picking some crumbs from them. "Good girl."

Jenny beamed at her, holding out the well-gummed crust. "Mama bed."

"Thank you," Rosie said solemnly, accepting the token and pretending to eat it. "Yum."

Jenny flopped back against Mr Gold's chest. She looked so at ease there, and Rosie raised her eyes to him. He was watching Jenny with a strange, sad look.

"What's wrong?" Rosie asked tentatively. 

"I'm not very good father material," he said, setting his cup down.

Rosie leaned forward and kissed Jenny on the forehead, but left her where she was, settled in her father's lap. "And I'm not very good mother material," she replied, sitting back and looking at him. "But maybe two not-goods make an okay?"

He nodded. "Maybe," he agreed quietly. He raised his eyes to look at her. "How are you?"

"Me?"

"Your sleep didn't seem very restful."

Rosie tugged at the hem of her shirt. "I've had worse," she murmured, remembering nights where she had been used so much that she woke bleeding in the night. There had been nights on the bathroom floor, when she had been sick so often that it felt she was burning from the inside out. There were nights when the alcohol wasn't enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

"All the same," he said, watching her as Jenny climbed up onto her feet in his arms. "You were hurt."

She met his eyes. "Like I said," she said quietly, "I've had worse." The look of anguish that crossed his face was so unexpected that she had to look away. "You said there's a doctor I could talk to?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral. "Would I have to go to him or could he come here?"

"If you would prefer here..."

"I would," she said at once, too quickly, she knew. She twisted her hands together. "I-I'd rather not go out for a little while."

Mr Gold was silent for a moment. "I'll call him. Tell him to come over." He paused, then asked, "Would you prefer if I were not here?"

Rosie trembled violently at the thought of being alone, in this big house, with a strange man, who might be terrible and cruel. He might not be, but she knew too many men who smiled kindly by daylight, but left her bruised and bloody by night. "No," she whispered, her voice so thin and high it sounded like a child's. "Not alone."

Abruptly, Jenny was in her lap and Mr Gold's hand was warm around hers.

"I'm here," he said. "I made a promise, Rosie. Remember that. I'll keep you safe."

She wrapped her other arm around Jenny, staring at him, and nodded. A promise from Mr Gold was worth more than anything. Everyone knew it. His words, his deals, they were the one thing that could be counted on in Storybrooke. She drew her hand free of his, but before he could doubt her faith in him, she leaned forward and wrapped her arm around his neck and hugged him tightly. She felt his hand hover uncertainly at her side, and that, more than anything made her know she was safe with him.

Jenny squirmed between them, protesting noisily, and Rosie drew back.

Mr Gold was looking at her with an uncertain expression, but it cleared in a moment and he rose. "I should change," he said. "I'm a little rumpled."

Rosie's lips trembled when she smiled. "It suits you," she said. "Not so formal. Not so frightening."

His hands flexed and folded together in front of his chest, an odd, almost puzzled look on his face, then he offered her another of those spare, tentative half-smiles. "I'll keep that in mind, dearie," he said. "Leave the dishes for now. We can deal with them later."

She rose, Jenny bouncing in her arms. "What should I do?"

His expression softened. "Whatever you want," he said. "The house is yours."

She was still staring after him two minutes after he walked out the kitchen door.

Mr Gold wasn't generous. Mr Gold didn't share. Mr Gold didn't care about anyone. Mr Gold didn't protect ex-whores from their old clients. Mr Gold didn't take small children to hospital when their drunk mothers dropped them. Mr Gold didn't hold broken creatures to protect them from their nightmares while they slept. 

At least, not the Mr Gold everyone knew.

"Let's get dressed, Jenny," she whispered to her daughter. "Then we can play. Maybe papa will come and play too."

"Apa?" Jenny tugged on Rosie's hair.

Rosie tickled her cheek with a fingertip. "Papa," she agreed.

He didn't play, in the end, but he did sit at the table in the morning room, going through his papers and watching them from the corner of his eye. Rosie knew he was pretending to work, but she also knew that he liked having them there, and liked seeing them playing with Jenny's toys.

It was late in the morning when someone rang the doorbell, and Mr Gold rose.

"That'll be Doctor Hopper, Rosie," he said.

Rosie's hands trembled. "Okay," she said, getting to her feet and lifting Jenny up in her arms. "Y-you won't go?"

"A promise, sweetheart," he reminded her. "Just sit. I'll bring him in."

Her legs were shaking so much that even if she wanted to stay standing, she couldn't have. She sank down to sit on the daybed that rested under the window. She regretted braiding her hair back, sitting in the harsh light of day, because she knew the dark bruises on her throat and bare arms would be even more noticeable, but it was too late to let her hair loose now.

She could hear Mr Gold talking quietly to the man in the hall, then the front door closed, and her heart was drumming a violent beat as the Doctor was led into the room.

It was a mistake. It was a big mistake. She couldn't talk to him, not about what happened, not about any of it. She shivered, rocking Jenny, and pressed her lips to her daughter's brow. She felt the plaster, remembered Jenny's screams the night before, the blood. 

Brave. She had to be brave. For Jenny.

She raised her eyes as Mr Gold and the Doctor stepped down into the room, tried to smile.

"Rosie," Mr Gold said, meeting her eyes, nodding reassuringly. "This is Archie Hopper. Hopper, this is Miss French."

She looked at the Doctor. He was a tall man, taller than Gold, and he was smiling. It was a kind smile, and it reached up into his eyes, behind his glasses. He had a bowtie on, which seemed so odd and quirky that she almost smiled, but he was still a doctor and she was still broken, and the smile faded before it could escape. 

"And who's this little lady?" Hopper said, approaching slowly and crouching down.

Rosie kept her arms around Jenny's middle. "Jenny," she whispered, her mouth dry.

Archie Hopper smiled again, that warm, gentle smile. "Hello, Jenny. I'm here to help you and your mommy."

Jenny stared at him, then reached out and snatched at his glasses.

He laughed when Rosie flushed and apologised frantically. "It's all right," he said. "I've had worse than a baby trying to steal my glasses." He straightened up. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"O-okay," she said, but pointed to the chair a little further away. "There."

He took off his coat and sat down, then glanced at Mr Gold. "Do you want to join Mr Gold to join you, Miss French?" he said, turning his gaze back to Rosie. 

Rosie nodded, swallowing hard. “Please.”

Mr Gold approached the couch and sat down, placing himself between her and Doctor Hopper’s chair. It was a small gesture, just a little thing, but it made her feel so much safer and she managed to breathe more easily. 

She set Jenny down between them, giving her daughter her favourite stuffed bunny to play with. Jenny cooed happily, rolling onto her back and hugging the rabbit. Rosie ran a hand over her daughter’s belly, then looked at the doctor. “H-how do we do this?”

“However you feel comfortable,” the doctor said, folding his hands together. He looked so relaxed, at ease, as if he didn’t know what she was, what she’d done. “This isn’t about what I want it to be, Miss French. It’s what you want. You can choose what we do.”

She twisted her fingers together, picking at her nails nervously. “Can… will you call me Rosie?” she asked haltingly. “I-I don’t like being Miss French. It… my father…” She shook her head. “Just Rosie.”

“Rosie, then,” he agreed with a nod. 

She was shaking already, even though she knew it was stupid to panic, and she looked imploringly at Mr Gold, who reached over and gently closed his hand over hers. 

“You don’t need to tell him everything, dearie,” he murmured, “but he’s here to help.”

Rosie nodded, and though her throat felt tight and painful, she made herself speak. “I-I drink,” she whispered, in a voice that sounded like a stranger’s. “It… I get scared. And hurt. And it makes things go away.” Her breathing was ragged, and Mr Gold squeezed her hand comfortingly. “I tried to stop, but when bad things happen…” She shook her head. “Bad things keep happening.”

“It’s a natural reaction to trauma,” the doctor said, his voice steady and calm, where hers felt like it was trapped. “We take security where we can. There’s no shame in that.”

“It makes things worse now,” Rosie whispered, clutching at Mr Gold’s hand. “I-I panic and I get scared and it… it’s easy to take some and make the edges soft.”

“So it’s become a dependency?”

She nodded, moving her thumb over Mr Gold’s knuckles, one by one. “I feel… tight without it. Like I can’t breathe.”

“Has this been going on for long?”

Rosie’s breath caught and she trembled, remembering the first night, the man, the thirty dollars, the pain and the shame that followed. She lifted her head and look at Mr Gold. “Take Jenny away,” she whispered. “Into the other room. She can’t hear. She can’t know.”

“Rosie,” Mr Gold said, looking at her with concern. “She won’t understand.”

She knew what he was saying: that he promised to stay, to keep her safe, that all would be well, that he would help her speak, but she would know that Jenny was there, and Jenny heard, even if she didn’t understand, and she couldn’t ever let that happen. 

“Please,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t let her hear.”

Mr Gold searched her face, then lifted his head and tilted her head down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be in the next room,” he said. “If you need me, just call.”

Rosie waited until they were in the next room. She picked up Jenny’s rabbit and hugged it close, the scent of her daughter still clinging to the fabric. She pressed her face into the soft fluff, trying to steady her breathing.

The doctor was watching her quietly. “This isn’t just about what happened yesterday, is it?”

Rosie looked up at him. “No,” she whispered, pulling her legs up onto the daybed and folding herself in as tight as she could. 

“You only need to tell me what you’re comfortable with,” he murmured, and she laughed, but it was all broken and sad and shaken.

“Comfortable?” she whispered. “You know the stories. Everyone says I’m Mr Gold’s whore.”

“I don’t listen to stories,” he said gently. “I trust what I see and hear firsthand, and I can see and hear that Mr Gold cares for you.”

“Now, he does,” she said, and her voice betrayed her by cracking again. 

“He didn’t always?”

Rosie rested her cheek against the rabbit’s fluffy head. “He made me leave,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. It came out flat. Hollow. Empty. “Didn’t believe Jenny was his.”

“What changed?”

Rosie shrugged, staring blindly at the floor. “He came to my apartment. He made Artie leave. He brought me back. Things weren’t so bad. I was scared they were. But they weren’t.” She let out a breath. “I stopped.”

“Being scared?”

She lifted her head, looked at him, nodded.

He tapped his fingertips together. “You said Artie was at your apartment. Was this Artie Morgan?” Rosie felt her cheeks burn and nodded. “He was a friend?” 

She looked away, staring down at the rabbit. “Client.”

“Ah.” She didn’t dare look at him, knowing there would be pity in his eyes. “For Jenny?”

She nodded, toying with one of the rabbit’s ears. “No one would take on Gold’s cast-offs,” she whispered. “He didn’t know. No one did. I did what I had to. Jenny had to eat and have clothes and warmth. So I did it. And I…” She raised her head and looked at him, too tired to be ashamed. “That’s when it started.”

“And now, it’s your security, when things go badly,” he murmured, tapping the tips of his forefingers against his lower lip.

She nodded. “I didn’t. Only once since I came back here, then…” She gestured with a shaking hand to her throat and bruised arms. “Yesterday was bad.”

He sat up a little straighter, like a school teacher. “You know what triggered it,” he said. “And to be honest, after everything that happened yesterday, I don’t want to say it was justified, but it was definitely understandable.” He offered her a gentle smile. “I know it’s no comfort, but you’re ahead of most people.”

“First step is admitting a problem,” she said with a pained little laugh.

“It might sound trite, but it doesn’t stop it being true,” he said. “You know what makes you reach for a drink, and you only did it this time after a hell of a bad thing happened to you. You know you don’t want to. The hardest part about any dependency is knowing how to break it when those bad moments come.”

“How?” Rosie asked, shaking her head. “I tried. I tried so hard.”

“Every person has a different way of dealing with it,” he said. “Some people find substitutes for the problem. Some people change their focus.” He tilted his head, watching her. “You just need something else to focus on when you’re afraid, when the temptation is there.”

Rosie looked through the doorway and across into the other room.

Mr Gold was sitting with Jenny in his lap, playing some weird kind of pattacake with her, and Jenny was smiling. He glanced over at her and Rosie wondered if she was staring hard enough that he could feel it.

“I have that already,” she said quietly, looking at Archie. “He helps me.”

The doctor looked down at his hands, then back at her, as If trying to think of a way to ask a difficult question. “You think he’s changed?”

Rosie stared at him, and it was if a thought that had been nestled away at the back of her mind had suddenly just become fixed and she understood. “I know he has,” she said. “He’s not the same man he was. I’m his focus, just like he’s mine. We help each other.”

It was strange.

Saying it out loud made her realise how true it was.

He had stopped Artie hurting her. She had told Emma the truth to help him. He had held her while she slept. She had shown him how to be a father to their child. He helped her up. She helped him walk. 

Rosie smiled. Maybe they could be okay, all three of them together. Maybe it would all be okay.


	13. Chapter 13

Rumpelstilskin had never been a firm believer in talking through problems, but it seemed that talking to Hopper had helped Rosie. So much so that she asked to accompany him to the station to confirm to the Sheriff that she would be pressing charges.

The Sheriff was pleased and relieved, and Rosie was calm and clear-eyed.

It had to look suspicious, given the state she was in the day before.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked once they were back at the house, safe behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. 

Rosie set Jenny down on her feet, and the child stamped enthusiastically on the spot. “I think I will be,” she said, raising her eyes to his. “I… I know I’m not right yet. Too much has happened. But I-I think it can get better.”

“The doctor helped, then?”

Rosie nodded, looking down at Jenny. “He did,” she said. She hesitated, then murmured, “I think I should speak to him again. The nightmares I have, they aren’t all from yesterday. I… I think there are things I need to talk to someone about.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. It was no big surprise. His own betrayal when she fell pregnant, the fact he cast her out, the way he treated her after she was moved into his property. None of it spoke of a healthy relationship.

“As often as you need to,” he said. “He’ll be happy to help.”

It wasn’t down to a matter of payment either. Archie Hopper was a good doctor, but he was a terrible liar. When he agreed to come and talk to Rosie, he insisted that it was just because he had heard about the incident with Morgan. Rumpelstiltskin could see it was otherwise: the man didn’t trust Tobias Gold as far as he could push him, and any poor, victimised girl who was living as his prisoner needed help.

What mattered was that it helped Rosie.

The rest of the town could consider him a psychotic bastard if they so desired, but as long as Rosie was well and recovering, then he knew it didn’t matter.

It was only fortunate that the confidentiality between doctor and patient extended to include him, because anyone who believed him harmless would have a short sharp lesson in just how wrong they were.

He followed Rosie and Jenny through to the dayroom. Jenny’s walking was progressing, but she was still clutching onto her mother’s fingers and she stamped determinedly towards her toybox. The simple pleasure of watching a child at play was one he had long forgotten.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down on the daybed as Rosie helped Jenny pull her favourite toys onto the floor. He knew it was ridiculous to be concerned, when things seemed to be improving, but it was exactly for that reason that he was worried.

The curse was still in place. Regina had him under her thumb. Rosie might have spoken to someone who could help her, but that didn’t undo everything she had been through. It felt like a very small bandage on a very large wound.

He looked down as a small ball bounced against his foot.

Jenny giggled. She was sitting several paces away, looking pleased with herself, eyes alight. “Ba!” she declared.

“She wants you to play,” Rosie said, with a small, tired smile.

Rumpelstiltskin looked across at the child they had made together, then picked up the ball and rolled it back to her. Jenny squealed in excitement, wriggling on her backside, and grabbed at the ball with both hands.

“Her favourite game,” Rosie murmured, leaning back against the edge of the daybed, beside his legs. “She likes it when things come back.”

“I know that feeling,” he said quietly.

Rosie looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded cautiously. “When you sent me away, when I was pregnant…” She hesitated, as if fearing the answer. “Why?”

Rumpelstiltskin bent to retrieve the ball that Jenny had just rolled back at him. He tossed it, letting it bounce once, then into Jenny’s lap. He tried to remember how Tobias Gold thought and acted, but his responses were false and deceitful. He remembered his own reasons.

“I was afraid,” he said.

Rosie looked at him doubtfully. “Afraid? Of me?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Of what you could mean to me.” The ball returned across the floor to him and Jenny clapped her hands. Rumpelstiltskin picked it up, turning it again between his fingers. “I believed you would betray me.”

“Why?” she asked, turning to face him fully. “What could make you think that? Am I a liar? Have I ever tricked you?”

He forced himself to look at her, remembering her face when he turned her away after taking her maidenhead and using her as he had. She hadn’t wept. She had only dressed, her eyes on his face, rose, and walked away with dignity that would have befitted a queen. 

“I thought you had,” he confessed. “So many have before. I couldn’t believe that anyone would…” He shook his head. “An old man’s folly, and a long, hard life.” He met her eyes. “I can’t excuse myself with my own cowardice.”

She stared up at him, her arm resting on the daybed so close to his leg that he could feel the warmth of her skin. It had been a joy to hold her the previous night, but given the cause, he would have rather been anywhere but there. 

It would have been different if she had been unscathed and happy, but she wasn’t. She trembled and cried out in her sleep, and even though he held her as gently as he could, she still winced and shrank from him in the throes of some terrible nightmare.

Even now, he could see the bruises on her arms where Morgan had manhandled her.

She said she had dealt with worse.

She didn’t seem to realised that made him feel like more of a monster than ever. If she had dealt with worse, alone and afraid, and he had left her, how could he feel he had any right to hold her, to protect their child?

He almost flinched when she laid her hand on his knee. “Are you afraid now?”

He nodded, his face crumpling. “All the time,” he confessed. “I don’t want to lose you again. Either of you.”

Her tongue darted along her lower lip, and she whispered, “Me too.”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her, his brave little love, and hesitantly put out his hand, brushing her hair back from her cheek. She shivered, closing her eyes and turning her face into his touch, her skin soft and warm.

“Ba!” They jerked back from one another as if doused in ice water at Jenny’s voice. Their daughter had got to her feet and toddled towards them, holding out her hand demandingly for her ball.

“She likes getting her own way,” Rosie said with a rueful smile as Rumpelstiltskin handed the ball back to the girl. Jenny beamed, then threw it right back at him.

“I can’t imagine where she gets it,” he said, tossing the ball.

Jenny tried to catch it, but wobbled and fell, landing on her backside on the floor. She looked at him in surprised indignation, then crawled straight into her mother’s arms and hid her nose in Rosie’s shirt. 

Rosie tried not to smile. “No playing shy, Jenny,” she said, stroking the baby’s curls. “Your papa didn’t mean it.”

Rumpelstiltskin eased himself off the daybed to sit on the floor beside them. He retrieved the ball and held it out to Jenny, who peered at him suspiciously between her fingers. “I’m sorry, dearie,” he said solemnly. “I won’t knock you over again.”

Jenny reached out and snatched the ball, glowering at him.

“Don’t worry,” Rosie said, giving him one of her rare, bright smiles. “She doesn’t hold a grudge for long.”

He looked at her. “Like her mother,” he murmured.

Rosie shrugged, lowering her eyes. “Maybe, a little.” She looked back up at him, and her eyes were bright and clear. “When people make an effort to show they can do better.”

He didn’t know what to say and it didn’t matter when Jenny threw the ball at him again.

They ate together and talked quietly as they fed Jenny, and when night came, they even made their way up the stairs together. The hall between his bedroom and hers seemed far too long, and she looked suddenly pale and fragile by the overhead lamp.

He knew that in this time and in this place, it was his turn to be the brave one. 

“Do you want me to sleep beside you again?” he asked quietly.

She wordlessly held out a hand and nodded her head.

Rumpelstiltskin took her hand at once, weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing gently. She needed him to be the strong one in the darkest parts of the night. He had been the terror in the darkness for so long that the night held no horrors for him anymore. If he could keep her nightmares at bay and ease her mind, then he would sacrifice every moment of sleep he needed to make it so.

Her room remained hers, but the bed became theirs. He still slept on top of the covers, when he slept at all, and she drew his arm around her, granting him silent permission to hold her, and each night as she slept, he watched over her.

She no longer cried out. She stopped flinching. Her sleep even seemed to be peaceful, and for that, he was grateful.

It meant, unfortunately, that he was verging on exhaustion when Regina approached him at the shop. Snow White and her precious Prince, it seemed, were getting too close for comfort, and revealing their illicit relationship to the world hadn’t done enough damage. 

“I want something done about it, Rumpel.”

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his eyes with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand. “What do you expect me to do, dearie?” he asked, lowering his hand and looking at her. “There’s not much more we can do to disgrace them.”

Regina stalked closer. “I want her destroyed. Broken, alone and humiliated.” She curled her lip. “You should know how to do that, Rumpel. You’ve done it before.”

He smiled bitterly at her. “So have you, your Majesty,” he said darkly. “She died, I recall. Threw herself from the tower. For her association.” Regina’s lips twitched and he made a promise to himself to make her suffer before the end. “Why come to me? What can I do that you can’t?”

The woman who had once been the child looked back at him. “Kathryn is going to let David be with Mary Margaret,” she said. “She needs to be taken out of the equation. Mary Margaret can not be happy. Do I make myself clear?”

“You cast the dark curse for vengeance on her,” he said dryly. “I think you underestimate just how clear you’ve already made things.”

“A curse that’s weakening,” she snapped. 

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her. “If something tragic were to happen to Kathryn, would that be enough?” he said, watching her, wheels whirring in his mind. He was not allowed to help the Sheriff, but that wasn’t to say he couldn’t make other people do his dirty work for him.

“What kind of tragic?” Regina asked too eagerly.

He stared through her, thinking hard. “The kind that would make it very apparent that Mary Margaret would stop at nothing to keep her man,” he said. He knew her imagination could provide fertile ground for his implication. “She would be locked up, despised more than she already is, her dear beloved believing her a killer, and then…”

“We can’t have a trial,” Regina said dismissively. “The evidence would never be enough.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “Who said anything about a trial?” he said. “Everyone knows that only the most desperate will run. If we make her desperate enough, and she just happens to find one of your keys in her cell, she would try to leave Storybrooke.”

For a moment, Regina looked like the delighted young thing she had been when first they met, all smiles and brightness. If it hadn’t been for the cause, he would almost have thought her the same person.

“That’s perfect,” she breathed. “Trust your twisted little brain to come up with something as cruel as that.”

He spread his hands and bowed mockingly. “Indeed.”

They both turned when the door of the shop opened. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s heart jumped painfully. “Rosie,” he said. She hadn’t left the house on her own since the day of Morgan’s attack. She hadn’t even suggested that she wanted to. “What are you doing here?”

Rosie steered Jenny’s stroller into the shop. “You forgot your lunch,” she said, then smiled tentatively at Regina. “Hi.”

“Rosie,” Regina said, smiling her bright, false smile, holding out her hands. “How lovely to see you out and about!”

Rosie left the stroller near the door. Jenny was occupied with a rattle of some kind, dividing her time between chewing on it and shaking it. “It’s good to see you too,” she said, offering a cheek, which Regina kissed.

Rumpelstiltskin fought every impulse to tear them away from one another as Regina embraced Rosie as if she were a friend, then looked her over.

“I heard what happened, dear,” she said. “You’ve been through so much, and now, you’re being so brave.”

Rosie lowered her eyes, shrugging. Rumpelstiltskin could see her tensing at the mention of the assault. “I thought it was time,” she said. She approached the counter. “I can’t hide away my whole life.” She turned a smile on Rumpelstiltskin, holding out the paper bag with his lunch. “It’s a BLT. High on B, low on L and T.”

He wished he could smile in gratitude, but all he could see was Regina’s tiger-smile over Rosie’s shoulder. “Thank you, dearie,” he murmured. “I must have missed it when I left this morning.”

“You were in a bit of a hurry,” she agreed.

The hurry had come about after Jenny managed to upend her breakfast all over his suit, forcing him to change ten minutes before he was meant to leave the house. 

He glanced beyond her again at Regina, who raised her eyebrows, still smiling. "Miss French, I don't mean to rush you away, but I have some business to attend to."

She nodded, blushing. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonsense, my dear!" Regina crooned, stalking up beside her. "Mr Gold has some matters to tend to, but I was quite finished here." She looped her arm through Rosie's. Even that unexpected contact made Rosie flinch, which - in turn - made Rumpelstiltskin's hand tighten on his cane in silent rage. "How about we go for tea? After all, I haven't seen you in days."

Rosie looked at her uncertainly. "I was going to go home," she said. "I don't really feel..." She hesitated, looking at Rumpelstiltskin, who tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. "Maybe it would be okay."

"Perhaps the diner," he suggested. At least there, the Lucas women would be able to intervene if the Queen tried to wedge open the barely-healed cracks in Rosie's delicate psyche. "Miss Lucas has been asking after you, so you could strike two birds with one stone."

Rosie's face broke into a fragile smile. "I-I'd like that," she said.

"Yes, how very thoughtful, Mr Gold," Regina said, still smiling sweetly, but with poison in her eyes. "We'll leave you to your work. We wouldn't want you to get distracted."

"I'm sure I won't have any problems," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll see you at the house this evening, Miss French."

Rosie smiled, quick and warm and gone, as Regina steered her out of the shop, taking Jenny with them. Rumpelstiltskin breathed hard, in and out, restraining himself from smashing something - anything - apart. Rosie's trust in Regina was like watching a lamb cosying up beside a hungry wolf. He knew he had to focus on Regina's orders, on shattering Snow White, and for that, he had to get to Kathryn.

Regina, ruthless, vengeful creature that she was, had known him so long, but still could never listen well enough to hear what he was actually saying. 

Rumpelstiltskin retreated into the back of the shop. There where chemicals there, substances that could be used for his purpose, and he had a cabin that would do quite well as a hiding place. He brought his car around the back of the shop, carrying supplies out to it. No one paid him any attention. They never did. The curse and his own reputation were useful that way.

All he needed was an opportunity, and those, he could not force.

He was still mulling things over when he returned home in the evening. Rosie was serving up dinner when he entered, and when she smiled at him, it wasn't as bright as it could have been. Jenny was working her way around the table in her walker, but held up her arms as approached.

Rumpelstiltskin propped his cane against the back of the chair, then bent and lifted her from her walker, sitting down with the child in his arms. "How was the diner?"

Rosie put a plate in front of him, then went back to fetch Jenny's bowl and her own plate. "It was... nice," she said. "Regina treated me to a cake." She sat down at the nearest chair, taking Jenny's bib from the table to put it on their daughter. "Jenny tried a strawberry."

"Unimpressed?"

Rosie shook her head with a smile. "She stole all of mine as well," she said, negotiating Jenny's arms into the sleeves of the bib. Jenny squirmed, arching her back and trying to escape, but Rumpelstiltskin kept his arms firmly around her middle. "We talked."

"Hmm." 

She raised her eyes to him. "Hmm? What's hmm?"

"I can't help noticing you don't look quite as happy as you did this morning," he said.

Rosie averted her gaze, picking up her fork. "She thinks it's a bad thing that I'm back living with you," she confessed.

He snorted. "Of course she does," he said, dragging Jenny's bowl closer and picking out a sauce-covered length of carrot for her. Jenny grasped at it greedily, chewing on it, as he picked up his own fork. "Did she use the phrase 'Stockholm syndrome' at all?"

Rosie looked up at him, with a rueful smile. "She did, now that you mention it. I looked it up."

"Well, then it's a good thing that I'm not a Swedish bank robber and you're not a bank teller, isn't it?" he said. Her lips twitched weekly. He set down his fork, reaching over to cover her hand with his. Her fingers were cold. "You know you're free to go any time you please, sweetheart. You don't need to stay if you're unhappy."

She turned her hand under his to clasp his fingers. "I'm not unhappy," she said so softly he could barely hear her.

Jenny chose that moment to put her half-chewed, sticky carrot into his shirt pocket.


	14. Chapter 14

Rosie was a good mother.

She was startled to realise it.

It was her third session with Doctor Hopper before she made that breakthrough.

For so long, she had been going on the assumption that her history, the things she had done, her weakness for alcohol, made her a bad mother, that she didn’t even try to imagine anyone would think of her as anything else. 

She was a good mother.

Archie smiled when she said it.

“You sound surprised.”

Rosie looked across the table at him. “I am,” she said, dazed. “I-I didn’t think I could be good for all the things I did.”

“Everything you did,” he reminded her gently, “was for Jenny’s well-being. You didn’t do anything because you wanted it for yourself. Everything you have done, everything that has happened since, it’s because you wanted the best for her.”

She nodded, then laughed, shaking her head. “I… it’s strange.”

“Good strange?” he suggested, smiling. 

“Very good strange,” she agreed. It felt like a massive weight had been taken off her shoulders with the new knowledge. She was smiling too much. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from it. She was a good mother. She loved her daughter and she was a good mother.

When Archie saw her to the door, she ignored his proffered hand and hugged him instead.

He looked at her in surprise. “What was that for?”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m a good mother,” she said. “That’s what it was for.”

It felt good to have something going right for once.

Her nightmares were easing, and sometimes, she even found Mr Gold asleep when she woke up in the morning. She never woke him, never moved unless she had to, and would just lie and watch him sleeping. 

He looked different when he slept. Not younger or like a stranger, but different. When he was awake, he was always on-guard, watchful, as if he expected anyone and everyone to be an enemy. When he was asleep, the lines of his face softened and he looked just like a normal man, a little sad, worn, but a man all the same.

He didn’t scare her at all, but when she saw him like that, so tired and just a little sad, she wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him and hug him. He was working late so often, and their shared bed seemed to be the only place he ever stopped.

Bad things were happening in town again.

It was bad enough that Mary Margaret had been outed as having an affair with a married man, which had shocked everyone, but what made it worse was that Mrs Nolan, the man’s wife, had vanished from her wrecked car. 

Mr Gold had stayed out late every night since it happened. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she always had his food prepared so it could be cooked quickly on his return. He was drawn and terse, but as soon as he lay down beside her, the tension seemed to leave him.

He even slept under the covers now.

All the same, it didn’t change the fact that he was exhausted and would probably appreciate a little good news. She fastened up her coat and headed in the direction of the pawnshop. He didn’t have Jenny today, not when he was so busy, so Rosie stopped by the diner first to collect her daughter from Ruby.

Jenny had icing on her nose, and Ruby grinned self-consciously. “A late birthday treat?” she suggested with a shrug.

Rosie looked at her daughter, remembering the non-event that had been her birthday. Next year, she promised, mama wouldn’t be too caught up in nightmares and terror to forget to plan something nice. “I think it was meant to go in her mouth,” she said, putting Jenny’s reins on.

“Close enough,” Ruby said, crouching down to kiss Jenny on the forehead. “You be good, Dimples.”

Jenny led the way out of the diner, stamping along in her new boots. Her father had been adamant that if she was going to walk anywhere, she would walk in decent, sturdy footwear, and Jenny loved them already. 

She also knew exactly where they were going, and only had to be hauled to a stop at the crosswalks, before they reached Mr Gold’s shop. The sign was turned to closed. Rosie tried the handle, frowning. It was unusual for him to be out of the shop during the day, but she supposed business was keeping him busy.

“Papa?” Jenny patted at the door.

“Papa isn’t in just now,” Rosie said. “We should go home.”

Jenny looked offended, but brightened when they started back in the direction of home. It was strange how quickly the pink house had become home to both of them. Jenny knew all the best hiding places, and often would crawl under the piano with her toys.

Rosie undid her reins and let her climb up the steps to the front door on her own. Jenny knocked both hands against the door. “Papa!”

“Not yet, sweetie,” Rosie said, smiling, as she unlocked the door and let her daughter in. The house was quiet as usual, and Jenny trotted off to check each of the rooms, shouting for her father. It was probably because she had been left with Ruby. Normally, she was only ever with one or both of her parents, and she seldom called on either of them.

She tried calling the shop while she made Jenny’s lunch, once her daughter finally stopped hunting for her missing father. There was no answer. Rosie forced herself to breathe calmly and deeply. Jenny was fine, and Mr Gold was away on business. It was a simple as that.

All the same, when there was a knock at the front door nearly an hour later, all Rosie could think of was a worst case scenario: he had been in an accident, he wasn’t coming back, he was gone, he was hurt, he was dead. 

Her breathing was staggered and her vision swam, but she picked up Jenny. “Let’s see who it is,” she whispered, trying not to think of the temptation of a bottle of liquor or anything to ease the panic building in her chest.

She opened the door, and the panic was replaced with confusion.

Mary Margaret was standing there, with a man she kind of recognised, but couldn’t place. “Hi Rosie!”

“M-Mary Margaret?” Rosie stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

Mary Margaret looked at her hopefully. She looked tired, Rosie noticed, and wary, like she expected to have the door closed in her face. “We’re selling candles for Miners’ day,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d like to buy some.”

“Um. Yeah.” Rosie opened the door a little wider. “Do you want to come in?”

The pair at the door exchanged looks.

“Really?” The man looked as stunned as Mary Margaret.

Rosie shrugged. “Why not?” she said. Mary Margaret had been kind to her when she was falling apart, and right now, she knew people were talking about Mary Margaret in the same loud whispers they had used about her. She smiled tentatively at the man. “Do you like tea?”

“Sure?” he said, frowning at her.

Rosie led them into the house. “Take a seat,” she said, setting Jenny down on her feet. “I’ll get us all some tea.”

She heard them talking in heated whispers about whether coming to Gold’s house was a good idea. The man called her Gold’s broad, which should have felt insulting, but instead made Rosie try her best not to smile.

By the time she came back, Jenny had climbed into Mary Margaret’s lap and had the man’s hat on her head. He was looking at her with the same bemusement that he’d directed at Rosie.

“We only had Earl Grey,” Rosie said, setting down the tray. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Sister, as long as you buy candles, I’d drink anything you put in front of me,” the man said, looking across the table at her. She smiled crookedly, setting out the saucers and then the cups. “I’m Leroy.”

“Rosie,” she replied, lowering her eyes. She had heard of Leroy, and now that she had a moment to think about it, she remembered him. He was infamous as the town drunk, and she remembered hours in the dead of night when their paths crossed in the liquor store. Neither of them spoke, but they had exchanged looks, and she could always see the telltale signs around his eyes that spoke of a problem. She wondered how bad she must have looked when Gold brought her home. “So, the candles. Is that for the nuns?”

“That’s right,” Leroy said eagerly, before Mary Margaret could speak. “They need to make their rent, otherwise…” He paused.

“Otherwise what?” Rosie asked, worried. 

Leroy and Mary Margaret exchanged looks.

“Mr Gold holds their lease,” Mary Margaret said self-consciously. “He won’t give them an extension.”

Rosie bit her lip, pouring the tea. It wasn’t as if she could ask Mr Gold to give them an extension. It was definitely a business matter and if they had been behind on their rent, it wasn’t something she could help with, except by buying a candle or two.

“How many candles do you need to sell?” she asked.

“A lot,” Leroy admitted, leaning forward to carefully take a teacup in his callused hands.

Rosie glanced at Mary Margaret, who seemed to have been tricked into playing peekaboo with Jenny. “How many have you sold?”

Mary Margaret flushed self-consciously. “Five?”

“Six,” Leroy corrected.

Mary Margaret set Jenny down to take her tea. “We’re not doing so well,” she admitted. “I-I don’t think people want to talk to me.”

Rosie stared at her. “Because of Mr Nolan?” Mary Margaret flushed and she nodded, looking down at the cup. Rosie shook her head in disbelief. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the people in this town were under some kind of spell that makes them act like assholes.”

Leroy choked on his tea and Mary Margaret laughed helplessly.

“You… don’t mince your words, do you?”

Rosie’s lips twitched. “I was having a good day,” she said. “I don’t have time for people being stupid about petty things.” Her heart leapt when she heard a key rattle at the front door. Only one other person had a key, and she knew she was smiling before the door even opened, partly relief, and partly, because it was him.

Jenny scrambled up to her feet, stumping towards the door at once.

Mr Gold stepped into the hall.

“Papa!” Jenny squealed, her tottering steps turning into a baby deer’s run.

Rosie saw the way his face lit up, and he dropped his cane to catch Jenny and lift her up into his arms. Jenny beamed at him, throwing her arms around his neck, and Mr Gold brought up his hand to stroke from the crown of her head, all the way down her back.

“… the hell…?” Leroy’s voice reminded her abruptly that they weren’t alone.

Mr Gold’s expression froze, and though he continued to hold Jenny as close and as warmly as before, his eyes hardened at the sight of Mary Margaret and Leroy sitting on the couch. “I see we have guests,” he said, as Jenny babbled happily to him, tugging on his tie.

Rosie nodded, getting up. “Mary Margaret and Leroy are selling candles for Miners’ day,” she said. “I was going to buy some.”

Mr Gold looked at the candles, stacked in a box, then back at their guests on the couch. “To pay the rent of the nuns, no doubt,” he said. “Really, when they have staff who order in helium by the crate rather than the canister, I don’t think they deserve any sympathy.”

“They’re nuns, not mathematicians,” she chastised with a shake of her head. 

Mr Gold snorted. “A shoddily-structured belief system is no excuse for poor arithmetic.”

Rosie tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. Sometimes, he could be so biting with his words, and she saw the gleam in his eyes. He liked it when he managed to make her laugh, and he liked it especially when he knew his temper was alarming the other people in the room.

“I’d like some anyway,” she said. “We need candles for the dining room.” She met his eyes challengingly. “I’ll just run upstairs and fetch some money, if you can look after our guests.”

Gold snorted. “Tell them to take twenty dollars off their rent,” he said, “and you can entertain your own guests, dearie.” He smiled thinly at Mary Margaret and Leroy. “I don’t believe I’m known for playing nice with others.”

“You got that right,” Leroy muttered under his breath. Rosie heard the sound of a hand striking an arm and Leroy grunted in indignation, but she didn’t turn.

“Can we make it ten?” she asked.

Mr Gold raised his eyebrows. “Are you running an extortion ring, dearie?” he said, with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Next, you’ll be asking if we can take the lot and ignore the rent.”

She ventured a small smile. “Well, you could.”

“You know my deals better than most,” he observed. “There was a contract involved. I don’t believe in breaking them.” He looked down at Jenny, who had draped her tie over his head and was beaming. “Even if this troublemaker asked, the answer would still be no.”

“Ten, and that’s enough to see us through a dozen nice dinners,” she said.

“Candlelit dinners?” he inquired, a glint in his brown eyes.

Rosie felt her cheeks redden. “Why not?” she said. “It’ll save on electricity, so you’ll make a profit in the long run.”

Mr Gold snorted. “You drive a hard bargain, but if you insist.” He glanced at their guests again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I missed lunch and I have no stomach for invasions.”

Rosie bent and fetched his cane. “You can take Jenny too,” she said. “She’s been missing you.”

His hand brushed hers as he took the cane. “Thank you, dearie,” he murmured, and there was a softness in his voice that was only for her. He looked at Jenny. “Now, you little villain, shall we get you something to eat?”

Jenny took what little was left of his reputation and shattered it by grabbing onto his nose. 

Rosie watched him walk as briskly as he could to the kitchen, trying to clasp shreds of tattered dignity about him. Her lips were twitching helplessly, as she turned back to her guests, both of whom were sitting and staring. 

“So it’s true your kid is his kid, huh?” Leroy said.

Rosie’s cheeks flushed. “People didn’t believe it?” she asked, returning to her tea. She hid behind the cup, hoping her blush would recede soon.

“People didn’t believe Gold can get people pregnant like a normal guy,” Leroy said with a snort, dunking a cookie into his tea. “People thought he hatched. Like a lizard.”

“Leroy!” Mary Margaret swatted him on the arm.

Rosie couldn’t help but laugh. She glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen. “He’s her father,” she said, turning back to them. “Lizard or not.” She set her cup back down in the saucer. “And we’ll take ten candles, so just take that off the rent total.”

“We should get that in writing,” Leroy said.

“It’s Mr Gold,” Mary Margaret said firmly. “He doesn’t break his word.”

Leroy rolled his eyes. “If you say so,” he said. He dragged the box over from the chair and counted out ten candles for her on the coffee table. “I’m sure he’ll be able to have a lot of great candlelit virgin sacrifices.”

Rosie blushed when she heard herself say, “We’re a bit short of those right now.”

Mary Margaret went as red as her, and they exchanged uncertain looks before breaking into helpless laughter. Leroy stared at them each in turn, as if he had missed out on the joke, and shook his head, muttering about women being crazy.

She was still smiling when she saw them out.

She gathered up the dishes and carried the tray through to the kitchen.

Jenny was sitting on the kitchen table, feeding her father pieces of salad from his dish. He had his fork as well, but every time Jenny chose an item, he obediently opened his mouth and let her put it in. 

“Our guests have been expelled?” he asked, between bites.

“My guests have just left,” she corrected, setting the tray down on the counter. She watched Jenny pushing a couple of cherry tomatoes into her father’s mouth. “I didn’t think you’d be home so early.”

He swallowed and caught Jenny’s hands in one of his to save him for forced feeding. “I had some matters to take care of out of the shop for the Mayor, and it felt a waste of time to go back when I was finished with them.”

Rosie transferred to dishes from tray to counter. “We did wonder,” she said. “We came by the store after I finished with Archie.”

Unable to feed her father further, Jenny picked a piece of ham from his plate and chewed on it as her father looked up at her mother.

“How did it go?”

She turned her back on him, rinsing out the cups, wondering how foolish it was to smile over such a simple thing. “Well,” she said, setting each cup carefully down. With one chipped already, it wouldn’t do well to chip another. 

“Only well?” He sounded concerned.

She smiled, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the polished tiles above the sink. “Very well,” she replied, drying her hands on the hand towel and turning to him with a small smile. “I made a breakthrough.”

Mr Gold scooped Jenny off the table and into his lap to keep her from throwing more of his food across the table. “What was that?”

When she smiled, her cheeks hurt from the width of it. “I’m a good mother,” she said.

He stared at her in astonishment. “You didn’t know that?”

She walked across the floor to crouch down beside his chair, catching one of Jenny’s hands and laughed quietly when their child threw herself forward into Rosie’s arms. Rosie landed on her backside on the floor and hugged Jenny, kissing her hair.

“I didn’t think I was,” she confessed, looking up at him, and whatever else she was going to say dried up in her throat at the look in his eyes. He was gazing at her as if she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen, which made her blush all over again. “What?”

“You are the most exceptional woman I have ever met,” he said, shaking his head. 

She ducked her head, accepting Jenny’s offering of a slightly-chewed piece of cucumber. “I’m just me,” she said. 

She trembled when he leaned down, his fingertips curling under her chin to lift her head, and more so when she saw the warmth in his eyes. “And you are, just as you are, exceptional.”


	15. Chapter 15

Rumpelstiltskin felt like he was juggling chainsaws.

To be a good father was walking a fine line anyway, but while working under the auspices of the Mayor made it even more difficult. Trying to be gentle with Rosie while maintaining his reputation enough to keep people at bay was even more of a trial. Added to that, the complications of holding a woman prisoner in a basement of one of the many abandoned cabins in the woods, while trying to run a business and frame a woman for the murder of someone who wasn't yet dead, Rumpelstiltskin was exhausted. 

All the threads were pulling together, little by little, and though the Mayor didn't know it, she was digging her own grave by making him ruin Mary Margaret.

Storybrooke was reeling from the revelation that Mary Margaret had been arrested for the murder of her lover's wife.

Reeling, but basking a little in this new, sordid gossip as well.

Even though the curse was his creation, he had not imagined Regina could twist so many minds so neatly into distrusting and deriding everyone for the least little offence. They believed the lie, though not without a moment of hesitation, just as they had believed Rosie was a worthless, gold-digging whore.

Rosie wasn't taking it well.

He had woken in the night to see her standing by the window with Jenny, rocking the grumbling child in her arms. Jenny had a cold, and hadn't been sleeping well for a few days.

"Rosie," he murmured, sitting up in the bed. "Come back to bed."

"She won't sleep," Rosie said fretfully. "She won't settle."

Rumpelstiltskin drew the blanket back. "Bring her in beside us," he said. "It'll be warmer. It might help."

Rosie hesitated, then nodded, returning to the bed, laying Jenny down beside him, bundled up in a woolly blanket. She shed her dressing gown and pulled the blanket back up over all three of them, curling on her side to curve around the woolly cocoon that was their daughter.

Jenny coughed and wheezed miserably, but the presence of both her parents seemed to soothe her. She wrestled her arms free from the blankets, turning onto her side to tug at Rumpelstiltskin's pyjama top. Rosie rubbed her back gently, murmuring and humming nonsense until Jenny rubbed sticky fists over her sleepy eyes and drifted to sleep.

Rumpelstiltskin watched Rosie watching Jenny by the soft light of the bedside lamp. "She's not the only one to have trouble sleeping," he murmured. "Is something troubling you?" 

Rosie took her time tucking Jenny in snugly. "Mary Margaret," she finally said.

It was no surprise to Rumpelstiltskin, given how kindly Mary Margaret had treated her. "What of her?"

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. "You don't believe she did it, do you?" she asked in a small voice. "You don't believe she killed Mrs Nolan?"

"I don't," he said in absolute honesty, knowing the woman in question was currently housed safely and soundly in a basement only a couple of miles away. "They may have found a heart, but there's no evidence yet that it's Mrs Nolan's, or that Miss Blanchard was involved."

Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. "Everyone else thinks she did it," she whispered. "I can't do anything to help. I want to help, but I can't."

Rumpelstiltskin brushed his fingertips along her cheek. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured. "Every suspect has the right to legal counsel. I plan on standing as Miss Blanchard's."

She opened her eyes, looked at him with such hope his heart ached. "Really? You can do that?"

He let his hand slip to her shoulder and squeezed it warmly. "Who do you think would stop me?"

She laughed shakily. "You'll help her?"

He laid his head back down on the pillow, gazing at her. "I'll do what I can," he said quietly. "But there's only so much I can do."

Her hand touched his cheek, trembling. "Thank you."

He caught it, holding it there and kissed her palm. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart," he murmured. "I don't have as much power as some people might believe."

"Still," she said quietly. "You're trying."

He turned away from her to switch off the lamp. "Yes," he said into the darkness. "I am."

In the end, Mary Margaret talked herself into the noose. 

He insisted on being her counsel for the simple reason that someone else might actually try to help her, rather than gently goading her to indignation. Regina was practically purring with satisfaction after Mary Margaret's outburst, and the Sheriff looked like a child who had looked around and found her favourite toy stolen.

For all that Regina believed she was playing, she didn't know the board, the rules or the loaded dice he was using. To all outward appearances, he was standing against her, for the Sheriff believed adamantly that Regina was behind it all. A wise girl, on occasion, though naive. Regina thought it was all going to plan, breaking the girl who was Snow White down a bit at a time. 

What Regina did not see was the way a good and noble heart would respond to adversity, which was what he was counting on. She never understood it, not in the long years that had gone by since she had loved, just as she never understood Snow White or the Prince.

Rosie was always waiting for him when he returned from either the shop or the Sheriff's station. She would look at him with such hope, and each and every time, he had to shake his head. He couldn't show his hand, not even to Rosie, not when he knew Regina still approached her from time to time.

When Mary Margaret finally ran, it was a relief.

Either way, the worst was almost over. 

While technically, he should have let Regina know about Mary Margaret's flight, he chose instead to return to Rosie and Jenny. After all, the poor Queen must be exhausted with all her plans coming to fruition. It would be a shame to disturb her. She had never ordered him to report to her immediately, and if she asked about his part in it, he could always lie.

"Any news?" Rosie asked, as soon as he walked through the door. The whole house smelled vaguely of menthol, and Jenny even more so as she tottered towards him, clad from head to toe in fleecy sleepsuit, and held up her arms for a cuddle.

Rumpelstiltskin scooped her up at once. She was still flushed with a fever, but she was much more active than she had been for several days. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Things are progressing," he murmured, raising his eyes from the child to Rosie. "A few days more and we'll know the outcome."

"Good? Or bad?" She was standing a few paces away, Jenny's blanket over her shoulder.

He rubbed Jenny's back as the baby coughed and snuggled against his shoulder. "That, I can't say," he said. "I've defended her as best I can." He held out his hand for the blanket. Rosie ignored it, instead approaching to drape the blanket around Jenny herself. She tucked it between Jenny's body and his. "How has she been?"

Rosie stroked Jenny's hair gently. "She wants to be playing and running around," she said, "but her balance is still off. She kept tripping over her own feet and getting upset." She rose on her toes, one hand resting on his arm, to press a kiss to the top of Jenny's head, then looked up at him.

Her face was so close to his that when her breath caught, slipping between parted lips, he felt it warm on his own.

It felt like they stared at one another for so much longer than three rapid heartbeats, then she closed the space between them and brought their lips together. It was tentative, just a little thing, but such a bold leap over a vast gulf, that he could barely breathe.

She drew back, her cheeks flushed, but she didn't lower her eyes.

Brave Belle never looked away from him, not even when he had shamed her.

"When she's asleep, do you want to go to bed?" she asked quietly.

He could barely hear her over the thunder of blood in his ears. "Is that a good idea?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Rosie's hand moved lightly on his arm. "I don't know," she said, her eyes burning into his. "I just know I'm not afraid to think about it anymore." Her lips trembled in a smile. "I know I'm not afraid to care about you again."

He lifted his free hand, burying it in her hair and drawing her lips back to his. It felt right, where she should always have been, with her arm around him and their child, and her kisses soft and warm and just as he remembered them before it all went wrong.

"I love you," he whispered, knowing he would regret it if he didn't say it.

She drew back, eyes wide, breathing as heavily as he was.

He couldn't read her expression, but after a moment, she smiled, reached up, and took Jenny from him. "Half an hour," she said quietly. "Come up in half an hour."

It struck him, as she walked up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder, that she had never looked more beautiful than she did when she was happy.

He went to the kitchen, making a cup of tea with hands that were shaking more than they should be. He loved her, and she knew it, as she never had before. When she remembered who she was, he knew he would have to tell her all over again, but that didn't matter. He loved her, and would still love her, and all he could hope was that she would love him in return.

Somehow, he drifted from kitchen to living room, to the china cabinet.

The chipped cup was gleaming gold in the light from the streetlamp.

Once upon a time, he thought, a brave, beautiful girl chipped a cup and cracked the hard shell of a ruined old monster.

He set down his tea, half-drunk, and took the cup from the cabinet, tracing his fingertips along the rim.

Rosie - Belle - and the cup. Both lovely. Both damaged. Both more precious than they could possibly imagine.

He took a shivering breath and closed the cabinet over. He knew he should sleep in his own bed, stay as far from temptation as possible, but he could no more refuse her than he could stop breathing. It was folly of the worst kind, especially knowing the curse was still wrapped around her so tightly. She couldn't be happy, as long as the curse was intact, not truly.

And yet, when he reached the top of the stairs, when he walked down the hall, it was to her door.

He knocked lightly, barely brushing the wood with one knuckle, hoping she had changed her mind, hoping the door would remain closed, but it didn't. She drew it open, and she smiled, her eyes bright, her expression soft, and she held out her hand to him.

She had changed, he noticed vaguely as she drew him into the room.

Jenny was asleep in the cradle, breathing wheezily, and Rosie had changed into her nightdress, the pale blue silk piece of nothing that alluded to more than concealing anything. He couldn't keep his eyes from wandering, and when they returned to her face, he saw the flush of colour, the pleasure in her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"You looked me like I'm beautiful," she confessed in a whisper.

"You are," he said, wondering how she couldn't realise it.

She stepped closer to him, so close now that Jenny wasn't between them, bringing his hand to her hip, her other hand rising to draw him down to kiss her. She was shivering when he took her in his arms, and she clung to him, as they stood there, in the middle of the floor, kissing so urgently as if they would drown without each other's lips. 

Rumpelstiltskin's fingers twisted into the fabric of her nightdress, dragging the silk against her skin, and she made a small, stifled sound, breaking away from his lips.

"Wait," she whispered, resting her brow against his. "Wait."

"We don't need to do anything, sweetheart," he breathed raggedly. "Sleeping beside you is enough."

She shook her head, running her hands up his arms. "Not for me," she replied in a trembling whisper. Her fingers fumbled with his tie, loosening it and pulled it off him, throwing it aside. "I choose to be here. I choose to be with you." There were tears tangled on her eyelashes, but she was smiling. "I want this."

Nobody decides my fate.

"If you want to stop," Rumpelstiltskin said, his voice tight as she undid the buttons of his shirt. "If you change your mind..." His words caught in his throat as she pressed one warm hand to his chest. He knew he was clinging to her hard, and he tried to stop himself, but if he let go, it felt like she would be gone.

"I want this," she repeated quietly, pulling his shirt loose from his trousers, the buttons all undone, his chest bare to her touch. 

He leaned down, kissing each eyelid, tasting the salt of her tears. "If I hurt you..."

"You won't," she whispered, capturing his lips with her own. 

He couldn't understand how they reached the bed. They must have moved in some kind of dance, because all at once, he was sitting on the edge, and she was between his knees, and his arms were around her waist, holding her as close to him as possible.

Small, deft fingers slipped under his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders, forcing him to release her to shake it off, and his shirt followed. Her hands ran over his shoulders, his back, then back up to tangle in his hair and her mouth sought his again.

"Touch me," she whispered, pleaded, against his lips. "Remind me how it can be."

He trailed kisses from her lips, down her jaw, ringing her throat as if every kiss was a diamond. A finger hooked the strap of her nightdress, gently sliding it aside to bare a little more flesh, and every inch that was uncovered, he kissed, even as his hands skimmed over her back, her hips, her thighs, teasingly running the silk against her skin.

Her fingers carded through his hair over and over, occasionally slipping to explore the nape of his neck, his back, his shoulders. Her hands were shaking, but she wasn’t afraid. She was touching with sureness. She was making soft, pleased sounds, and that reassured him more than her words. 

“Lie down with me, love,” he asked, lifting his lips from her skin to look up at her.

For a moment, she hesitated, and he thought he had frightened her by asking too much, but then she smiled, kissed him quickly and stepped around his leg to sit down on the edge of the bed beside him. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, touching his hand where it rested on the bed.

He lifted his other hand to caress her cheek. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “What do you want?”

She stared at him with such a look of wonder that it was a shock to realise she had never been offered that option before. “I-I don’t know,” she confessed. “Just… touch me?”

He smiled at that. “That, I can do,” he said. “Lie back, love.”

She bit her lip as she slowly lay back on the bed, and he leaned over her, mindful not to pin her down or make her feel threatened, and claimed her lips again, gently. Propped over her on his left arm, he let his right hand drift, caressing her side, her hip, down to her thigh.

One of her hands toyed with his hair, the other resting on his shoulder, but she made no movement to encourage or discourage. She was still scared, but putting it to one side, because she wanted to be with him.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know what scared him more: that she trusted him or that he knew he would never hurt her, even if it meant hurting himself to keep her safe.

His fingertips skimmed the end of her nightdress and brushed bare knee. 

Rosie trembled, and he let his hand rest there. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Any time you want, we can stop.”

She nodded, looking up at him, her eyes so dark that they looked like they belonged to someone else. “I know,” she breathed. “Keep going.”

He eased his hand under the skirt of her nightdress, taking his time gently moving up her thigh. He lowered his head to nuzzle and kiss her throat, her ear, her shoulder, taking note of the places that drew small, breathy gasps from her. 

Her fingers tightened in his hair as he nudged the neckline of her nightdress lower, and for a moment, he thought she wanted him to stop, but she moved his head, insistently, and he smiled against the newly bared flesh of her breast.

“Please,” she whispered.

It was damned near impossible to keep himself detached and focus on her pleasure alone, especially when she was making such small, demanding sounds. His mouth skimmed over her breast, lapping, nipping and sucking. Her fingers clenched in his hair and she shuddered, and gently, so gently, he eased his hand down between her thighs. A tiny, wounded sound escaped from her throat and he lifted his head to look at her.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she was tense, trembling.

“Stop?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she whispered. “No, please.”

Gently. The word was racing through his head, as he leaned down to kiss her tenderly, distracting her as much as he could as he brushed his fingers between her tensed thighs. By degrees, her lips parted to him, then her limbs, and he returned to lavishing his adoration on her body, as tenderly, as carefully as he could.

He remembered the night he had found her with Morgan. There was blood on her skin. Blood and bruises. Anything he did, he knew he had to counter those memories, and that meant patience and gentleness and thinking only of her. 

He dragged down the rest of her nightdress over her breasts with his teeth and lavished attention on each of them, softer and fuller than he remembered, and moved his hand slowly, taking a moment when she was shivering pleasantly to slide his fingers more intimately against her. She was already slick and warm, and he claimed her lips as he slid a finger within her, earning a sharp cry, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He broke the kiss to look at her, but before he could speak, she smiled, tremulously it was true, but it was a smile, and shifted her hips towards his hand. She was biting her lower lip and there were tears on her face, but she nodded encouragingly.

He needed no further encouragement, shifting his hand just so to rub against that throbbing nub of nerves as his fingers moved inside her. He tried to kiss her again, but she tightened her hand in his hair, holding him where he was, looking at him as she rocked against his hand.

She wanted to see him. She wanted to feel him and see him.

“Rosie,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she panted, as he rubbed and stroked and felt her tensing around his fingers. She drew his brow down to rest against hers. “Tell me again.”

He didn’t need to be asked again. “I love you.”

Her face crumpled, and she was crying, and laughing and gasping, soft breathless sounds as she trembled beneath him. “I love you too,” she whispered, pulling him down to hold him tightly as she came apart. 

Rumpelstiltskin drew his hand from her body, holding her until the tremors stilled, and her tears had run dry. Her skin was cool, damp with sweat, and her nightdress was clinging to the parts that had remained modestly covered. 

He propped himself over her, smiling as her eyes flickered open. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she whispered, blushing. “You didn’t need to do that.”

He trailed a kiss over her lips, smiling as she rose to catch it. “Yes, I did,” he said. “You deserved a little kindness.”

“You didn’t get anything out of it,” she murmured, looking up at him, pleasantly flushed and drowsy. In fact, she looked more relaxed than he had seen her look since before the fateful day in the Dark Castle.

“I got to see you like this,” he murmured. 

“Pink and sweaty?” She giggled, bringing up a hand to cover her face.

“Glowing,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. “Sated.”

She claimed a kiss, her hand moving to rest on his chest. “Do you want to…?” she began, gazing at him from eyes drooping with sleepiness.

“You would fall asleep before I even undid my belt,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Get into bed, sweetheart. I can wait.”

“Not fair,” she mumbled muzzily.

“Very little is,” he replied, gently untangling himself from her arms. He rose, bending over her to draw her nightdress back into its more proper arrangement, then slipped his arms beneath her to lift her up. “Can you pull the blankets back, dearie?”

Rosie groped blindly, dragging them out of the way, and he rolled her into the bed. She snuggled into one of the pillows, still pink-cheeked and smiling a soft little smile.

Rumpelstiltskin bent over her and kissed her temple. “Get some rest,” he murmured, though he knew she probably was already drifting into sleep.

Only once he was certain did he straighten up and retreat into the bathroom. The scent of her was all over him: sex and desire and passion and her. He would have to be a stronger man not to close the hand that had so recently touched her around his cock. But he wasn’t a strong man, so he did, his other hand clasping the edge of the sink, and he closed his eyes and remembered the look on her face as she came.


	16. Chapter 16

Rosie was happy.

It was a strange, long-forgotten feeling, but when she woke up nestled in Mr Gold's arms, she felt right and happy and home. He was asleep when she stirred, and she watched him for a little while, before waking him up with a kiss. He woke almost instantly, startled, then smiled and returned the kiss.

Her hands ran over his chest, still bare from the night before, and lower, and his own hand drifted down her back, tugging at her nightdress.

It wasn't wild. It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't anything like the past year.

When her nightdress was pulled over her head, she was the one who threw it aside. When his hands slid down her bare back, she shivered in pleasure at the warm, callused texture of his palms. When she rolled onto her back and drew him over her, it was because she wanted him there. 

When their bodies met, when he slipped inside of her, she clung to him, a small, tight, stifled sound catching in her throat, and he stilled over her.

"Rosie?" His hand stroked through her hair, soothing. "Stop?"

She shook her head. "Minute," she whispered, startled to realise she was crying again. It wasn't because it hurt. It was because it didn't hurt at all. When she shifted, moved her hips to meet his, she felt his gasp against her ear, and she pressed her fingers to his back. She wanted to laugh, to hold him as tight as she could forever. "Okay."

He didn't hurry her, even though she knew it must have been driving him crazy. If she made any sound of pain, she knew he would have stopped, but there wasn't pain. She wrapped her legs around him, letting him know, because she knew she didn't have the words for anything else. 

His mouth found hers, the kiss as ragged as their breathing, and she keened softly against his lips. 

She didn't know who was moving, whether it was him or her or both. All she knew was that there was a steady rising heat in her blood, and she was breathing short and rapid. He lifted his head to meet her eyes, hold her gaze, and that, that look, that expression, his love written all over his face...

She clung to him with a small shuddering cry, and he held her fast, kissing her brow, the tip of her nose, her lips, and he kept moving, slow, gentle, making fresh shivers run through her until he finished too. 

Her face was wet, and she lifted a hand to touch his cheek, and his was wet too.

"G'morning," she whispered against his lips. 

He nudged the tip of her nose with his own, bracing himself over her with his forearms. "Same to you," he murmured, searching her face. He was waiting, expecting her to be hurt or afraid. 

She traced her fingertips up and down his back, her other hand brushing his stubbled cheek. "I'm okay," she said with a small, blushing smile. "Really."

His features softened and he smiled. "Good," he replied just as softly. He rolled, drawing her over him, their bodies still joined so closely that she could feel every little bit of him. "You look dishevelled."

She propped her arms, folded, on his chest. "So do you," she murmured. "Do you have to work?"

He lifted his hand to brush her hair back from her cheek. "Unfortunately," he murmured. "But I should be home early this evening."

She nuzzled his hand. "Good."

"Is that so?" he asked, a smirk curving his lips. 

Rosie blushed furiously, ducking her head to hide it against his shoulder, and he laughed quietly, smoothing her hair over her shoulders. "Shush," she mumbled against his neck. "I can't like you now?"

"You can like me as much as you please," he said, a wicked tone in his voice, "if that's what you young people are calling it these days."

She pinched his ribs for that, earning a grunt of protest, and was tumbled back onto her back, squealing. They fought for purchase and she laughed triumphantly when she managed to pin him down, sitting astride his middle. "One point for those young people," she said, beaming at him. 

His hands fell to rest against her thighs and he gazed up at her with such rapt adoration that she couldn't help leaning down to kiss him again.

It seemed very unfair when the alarm went off and he reluctantly had to push himself out of bed. For once, Jenny was still asleep, and that hardly ever happened, but of course, he had to work, so he had to go. She wrapped herself up in the blankets while he was in the bathroom, inhaling his scent from them.

She felt warm and satisfied and only a little bit tender.

"You'll be home when I get back?"

She sat up, looking him over in yet another of his elegant suits. "Where else would I want to be?" she asked, smiling.

The day drifted by without him, though Jenny kept her busy enough. Still snuffly and coughing, but determined to be running free, the toddler's collisions with furniture resulted in crying episodes and more often than not, Rosie found herself sitting on the floor, Jenny in her lap, trying to calm her.

For once, she felt calm herself.

It was strange to feel at peace and able to face whatever the world threw at her.

When Gold returned that evening, Rosie was curled up on the couch with Jenny tucked in the curve of her body, breathing raspily. She didn't lift her head right away, her attention on their drowsing daughter, but when he approached, when he brushed his fingers lightly over her hair, she tilted her face to his with a small smile.

"How is she?" he murmured.

"Getting there," she replied just as quietly. "She got upset. I didn't have a chance to make dinner."

"We can order in," he said. "Don't disturb her."

In the end, Jenny stirred and grumpily demanded her father's embrace just as the food arrived. Rosie smiled quietly, accusing him of doing it on purpose, so she would have to feed him and the baby.

"I have no idea what you mean," he said, looking down at Jenny with that warm, doting expression that was preserved completely for their child. All the same, he opened his mouth and let her scoop forkfuls of rice and chicken into his mouth as he rocked Jenny and tried to encourage her to eat.

By the time they managed to get to the bedroom, Jenny was refusing point blank to let go of her father and wailed pitifully at any attempts to put her in the cradle. Mr Gold looked ruefully at Rosie, who was trying to stifle her giggles as she changed into her nightdress.

"I don't see what's so funny about this," he said, lifting Jenny back out of the cradle and letting her bury her hot little face against his neck. He had barely had long enough to change into his pyjamas, and Jenny clung to them.

"She just wants to be as close to you as I do," Rosie replied, though she blushed as she said it.

He looked at her wonderingly, then smiled, stroking Jenny's back. "I think I have enough room for two little ones to smother me," he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed. With one arm, he supported their daughter, and with the other, he pushed back the covers.

When Rosie slipped under the blankets with him, Jenny was already settled on her father's chest, burbling quietly, her eyes halfway to closed. Rosie tucked herself against his side, putting an arm over Jenny's back, as Mr Gold slipped his arm around her shoulders.

When he flicked the bedside lamp off, Rosie smiled in the darkness.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmured.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

As happy as she was, Rosie couldn't help feeling a little guilty. Mary Margaret was still locked up, and due to go to trial. Emma was so busy trying to prove her innocent that Rosie hadn't seen her in days. Regina was standing by the DA in plans for pushing forward with the trial.

Everyone was having such a bad time, but she was happy.

She tried to justify it to herself: she had been unhappy for so long. Surely it was only fair she got to have a chance to be the happy one for once. 

She visited the diner once in a while, taking Jenny out for walks in her stroller, because as tired and cranky as her daughter was, keeping her stuck inside the same four walls of the house was only making it worse. She was nursing an iced tea, while Granny bounced Jenny on her knee, when they heard a scream from outside.

"Ruby!" Granny thrust Jenny back into Rosie's arms and was out the door faster than Rosie would have thought possible.

Rosie scrambled to her feet, hurrying to the door, holding Jenny tightly. A sick knot of fear twisted around her belly as she saw Granny dash into the alley beside the diner. She remembered and hated that alley. Bad things had happened there, and if Ruby...

She stumbled down the steps and into the alley, but Ruby wasn't there, not hurt, not bleeding, not on the ground.

"Ruby?" she called, her voice thin and tight.

"Here, girl!" Granny called.

Rosie hurried through the alley, trying to push back the memories that pounded in on her from all sides. There, where he pulled her into the dark. There, where she tried to scramble away and he caught her hair, dragged her back. There where he pushed her up against the wall and and and...

She fell out into the light at the other end of the alley, leaning heavily against the wall. She wanted to be sick, but Ruby. Ruby was scared. Ruby might be hurt.

She drew a quivering breath and made herself look up.

Ruby was sitting on the back steps of the diner, white as a sheet, and Granny was chaffing her granddaughter's hands between hers. 

"R-Ruby?" Rosie asked, her voice quivering. "Are you okay?"

Granny cast a look over her. "She looks better than you do," she said, gesturing Rosie closer. "You two sit together. I'll go call an ambulance."

"Are you hurt?" Rosie asked shakily, sitting down on the step beside Ruby and taking her hand.

Ruby stared at her. "Not me," she whispered. "Kathryn Nolan. She's alive."

"Wh-what?"

It didn't make any sense. None of it. Everyone knew Kathryn Nolan was dead. Everyone knew her heart was found in Mary Margaret's jewellery box, buried by the Toll bridge. Everyone knew a knife had been found in Mary Margaret's apartment. Everyone knew that no one else could have done it. And now, everyone was wrong, because she hadn't done it. How could you be accused of the murder of someone who wasn't dead?

Rosie returned home with Jenny. She was shaken enough by returning to the scene of her assault, but to know that someone had framed a woman she considered her friend for murder made her feel like the world had been pulled out from under her. Storybrooke wasn't all bad, but now, it felt like there was something darker underneath it all, and it scared her. 

Mr Gold's house felt safe and secure against the world, and as much as she wanted to go and find him, she knew he would be busy getting Mary Margaret formally cleared. She closed the door on the world, and retreated to the livingroom, curling up in a chair, wishing she could stop her heart from racing. 

It felt wrong to be so scared, when Mary Margaret would be free and Kathryn was alive. But she was scared of what had happened to Kathryn, where she had been, who had hidden her away for so long. She was scared that someone had made Mary Margaret look guilty. She was scared that if someone wanted to hurt good, kind Mary Margaret, what was to stop them hurting anyone else? What was to stop them hurting her?

Jenny always knew when her mother was upset, and she was making small, fretful noises, cuddled against Rosie's chest when there was a knock at the door. 

"Papa!" Jenny squirmed, trying to free herself of Rosie's arms, but for the first time in weeks, Rosie wanted to keep her close as she could, keep her safe, keep herself safe.

"No," she said hoarsely, rising and holding Jenny as tightly as she could without hurting her. "No. Not papa." She walked to the door on trembling legs, peering through the glass. She trembled with relief at the sight of Regina, and unlocked the door. "Regina."

Regina smiled at her, but it looked strained, tense. "Rosie, dear," she said. "Is Mr Gold in?"

Rosie shook her head. "I... he... I think he must be busy with Mary Margaret," she said.

Regina's lips drew together tightly. "I see," she said. She smiled again, but it was a tired, tight smile of someone who wasn't happy enough to really smile. "Do you mind if I come in and wait for him? I went to his shop, and he wasn't at the Sheriff's station. I need a word. Quite urgently."

Rosie mutely stepped back, opening the door, and closing it once the Mayor stepped in.

It was only when Regina was standing in the living room, turning slowly around that she looked at Rosie. "Are you all right?" she asked, frowning. "You don't look well."

Rosie tried to smile, but it was about as convincing as Regina's. "Bad day," she said. She breathed in deeply, then out. "D'you want tea? Or something?"

"Tea would be fine," Regina said with a nod. "Shall I watch Jenny for you?"

Rosie backed away a step, shaking her head. "No," she said too quickly. She flushed and stammered, "She's not well. She won't settle if someone else holds her. I'll keep her with me."

Regina watched her for a moment, then nodded. "I wouldn't want to upset her," she said quietly. She went over to one of the chairs and sat down. "I'll wait here."

Rosie swallowed hard, nodding, and retreated to the kitchen, hugging Jenny tightly. Jenny squalled and twisted her hands painfully in her mother's hair. She was scared, just like Rosie was scared, but she didn't understand why. Rosie knew she should put the kettle on, act like a normal person, but all she could do was fold down into one of the seats at the table and hug Jenny, inhaling the warm, sweet baby smell until she felt she could breathe again. 

It was almost ten minutes before she managed to rise on shaking legs and go to the sink to fill the kettle, and another five before she pushed the kitchen door open with her shoulder, Jenny in one arm, a cup of tea for Regina in the other. 

"Sorry," she said in a small voice. "Jenny was upset."

Regina turned. She was standing by the china cabinet, and she had Mr Gold's chipped cup in her hands. Her smile was back, but it was brittle. "That's all right, dear," she said. "I was just admiring Mr Gold's collection. He has some very interesting pieces, doesn't he?"

"I guess," Rosie said quietly, setting the cup of tea down on the coffee table. She didn't like that Regina was touching the cup. It was an odd piece, but she had a feeling it was important to Mr Gold, and he wouldn't want anyone touching it. He'd taken it from her hands too many times when she was cleaning it.

Both of them turned sharply when the front door swung in.

Jenny's cry of "Papa!" almost covered the sound of shattering china. 

Rosie turned, horrified, to look at Regina, who was staring at the floor. The cup had slipped from her hand and smashed into a dozen pieces on the floor.

Mr Gold's voice made her turn back to him. "Rosie?"

"Tobias," Regina murmured, and that made Rosie shiver all over again. She couldn't call him by his first name. It didn't fit him. It didn't suit him. But when Regina said it, there was all the history between her and Mr Gold that Rosie didn't understand.

Mr Gold's face went stiff and blank and he stepped down into the living room, turning to look at her. She was pale and she looked down at the floor. 

"I'm so sorry, dear," she said, her voice laced with contrition. "My hands slipped." She looked back at Mr Gold, who was rigid, breathing hard. "These fragile, damaged things break so easily, don't they?"

Rosie could see Mr Gold's hand tightening on his cane. He looked like he could hurt someone. He looked like he could hurt Regina. Rosie walked closer on shaking legs. "Please," she whispered, touching his arm. "It's all right. It's just a cup."

He was still staring at Regina, his expression cold as ice. "Just a cup," he echoed.

Jenny started to cry.


	17. Chapter 17

Rumpelstiltskin had been angry before. He had killed in anger before. But he had never wanted to hurt someone so much as he wanted to hurt Regina in that moment.

The cup, Belle's cup, lay in pieces at his feet. 

She was threatening his lover and his child. 

She had walked into his home, bold as sin, and was warning that Rosie's fate would match the cup's.

The blood was rushing in his ears and he tightened his grip on the cane, so tempted to bring it up and strike her hard across the face. Just a cup didn't matter. Rosie didn't understand what was being said beneath it all. Rosie had no idea how much danger she was in. 

"Mr Gold," Rosie's voice was trembling. "Please, can you take Jenny? Please?"

He tore his eyes from Regina's to look at her, and his wailing child. Jenny's face was flushed and crumpled. Rosie, on the other hand, was bone-white. She looked ill, as if she was about to faint. He held out his arm in silence and accepted the child, who clung to him, burying her face in his shirt. 

“Take a seat, Rosie,” he said, watching her. 

She shook her head. “I-I-I’ll clean up,” she stammered, backing away. “R-Regina wants to talk to you. I-I’ll clean up.”

She fled in the direction of the kitchen to fetch the dustpan, and Rumpelstiltskin covered Jenny’s back with his hand, stroking gently to soothe her. He looked at Regina with blank loathing. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why Kathryn Nolan isn’t dead,” she snapped, her voice low and terse.

He leaned forward, Jenny protected in his arms, and bared his teeth. “You never said to kill her,” he snarled, drawing back when Jenny whimpered. He rocked her gently. “You’ve done enough damage to Belle and to my child. I won’t let you do more.”

“We had a deal,” she said, her face taut with fury. “You said you would get rid of Snow.”

“I put all the dominoes in place,” he retorted. “I can’t help it if they didn’t fall where you wanted. I don’t kill on command, dearie. I set her up to run, and run she did. Anything that came after isn’t my doing.”

“Such as Kathryn’s reappearance?”

He scowled at her. “It wasn’t meant to happen until after Snow was gone,” he said, lying freely through his teeth. Jenny was whimpering, made nervous by his anger. “By which point, it would be too late.”

“And now, she’s free and the Sheriff is asking questions again,” Regina hissed.

“Is she asking how to break the curse?” he asked in a dark whisper, “Because if not, I don’t see why you’ve come to harass me. Snow White is still alone. Her Prince is still married. The Sheriff is still oblivious. Push harder, dearie, and their blind indolence will shatter.”

They drew back from one another when Rosie stumbled back into the room. She didn’t look much better and she avoided their eyes. “I-If you could move, I’ll clear up the pieces,” she said, staring at their feet.

“I’ll see you out, Madam Mayor,” Rumpelstiltskin said, ice coating his words. “If you please.”

Regina’s eyes flashed, but she paused long enough to touch Rosie’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to leave you more work to do, dear,” she said. “I’m very sorry about all this.”

Rosie looked up at her, all trust and even a small, cautious smile. “It-it’s all right,” she said. “It was an accident.”

“That it was,” Regina murmured, kissing Rosie on the cheek. She stepped over the shattered remains of the chipped cup and Rumpelstiltskin stalked after her towards the front door, going as far as to step onto the terrace behind her. 

“Stay away from her,” he snarled. “Stay away from us.”

Regina leaned closer to him. “You want to watch yourself, Rumpel,” she said. “Your little girl knows who she can trust. One day, she might realise that it just isn’t you.”

“Go,” he snapped, stepping back into the house and slamming the door behind her. He pressed his hand against it, as if that would be enough to keep the bitch away from Rosie and Jenny. It wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough, until the curse broke.

He limped back to the living room, cradling the still-whimpering Jenny. He felt like Regina had caught his heart and twisted when he saw Rosie kneeling on the floor, picking up each piece of the cup as carefully as if it were a priceless treasure, setting them gently in the dustpan on the floor. She was trembling, and there were tears on her face.

“Rosie,” he murmured.

She looked up, hands shivering around the last piece. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I-I didn’t know she was holding it and you came in so suddenly.” She set the last shard down. “I-I didn’t mean to let it get broken. I know it’s important. I’m sorry. I know…”

“Rosie,” he said, gentling his tone as much as he could. “Rosie, it’s just a cup.” He went down on one knee, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not angry with you.”

She stared at him searchingly. “You wanted to hurt her,” she whispered. “I could see it. She broke it and you wanted to hurt her.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "I did," he admitted quietly. "She knew what it meant to me."

"But it was an accident," Rosie said, her voice shaking. 

"I wish I could believe that," he said. He shifted his weight to sit on the floor, setting Jenny in his lap. Her fists were tight little knots in his shirt, and her cries had reduced to a soft keening. Rumpelstiltskin leaned back against the bottom of the china cabinet, stroking her hair as gently as he could. 

Rosie twisted her hands in her lap. "Why is it so important?" she asked in a small voice.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't bring himself to look at her, or at the cup. "It was a memory of someone I once loved," he said, looking down at the child who was the product of that love. "I lost her, long ago."

"Oh." Rosie didn't sound surprised. "What happened?"

He raised his eyes to her face, remembering those last hours that she had been in the castle, the hours he had spent pacing outside her dungeon after he'd torn the spinning chamber apart. Rosie looked back at him, Belle lost somewhere behind those blue eyes. 

"I let her go," he said quietly. "I regretted it right away, but I couldn't find her. I was told she died. Killed herself." He looked back down at Jenny, who was quiet now, curled on his chest. "It was all I had left of her."

Rosie looked down at the cup in the dustpan. "I'm sorry," she said again, quietly.

"Sentimentality," Rumpelstiltskin said, drawing a breath. "Put the pieces in a box, would you, sweetheart? I know it's past salvation, but I don't want to throw it away."

She nodded, getting unsteadily to her feet, taking the dustpan with her.

He couldn't bring himself to rise. He laid his hand gently on Jenny's back and closed his eyes. He knew he would have to protect them both, now more than ever. That meant encouraging Rosie to come to the shop with him and increasing the security around the house. If anyone so much as breathed the wrong way around her, he would be there to make sure they didn't make the same mistake again. 

There had been a peace between them now, between him and Rosie, but it felt like it had been stretched taut, almost to breaking point.

She was scared again, and that enraged him. Regina had taken all the patient work he had done to help Rosie find herself once more, and in one simple moment, knocked it to shatter on the floor. 

When they went to bed that night, it lacked the intimacy of their more recent nights together. Instead, she clung to him, as she had in the early days. Her hand knotted into his pyjama top and she was rigid and trembling beside him. She had a nightmare for the first time in weeks and woke sobbing, which woke Jenny in turn. 

It made the minor victory over the Queen's plans taste like ash in his mouth. 

He didn't dare leave her alone for a moment, which was why he insisted she accompany him to Mary Margaret's party to celebrate the woman's release. As much as he didn't want to be there, Rosie needed company that was not him, company that was kind and warm and welcoming to her. 

He knew his presence was not really welcome, so he kept himself to himself, but close enough to see her.

Mary Margaret greeted her warmly, and for a moment, Rosie smiled. 

Henry was there too. Rumpelstiltskin knew the boy was a brave one, but to risk his mother's wrath by coming to her worst enemy's party was courage beyond his ken. The boy had come to the shop that morning to buy a gift for Mary Margaret, and Rosie had ended up talking to him. He was talking to her again, bright-eyed and animated, and drawing those rare, small smiles to her lips. 

His own attention kept drifting to the man who called himself August Booth. 

He too had come to the shop that morning, but he had crept in the back door. He was behaving far too suspiciously for a man who had never been seen in Storybrooke before. With Rumpelstiltskin's concerns for Jenny and Rosie rising, it brought back fears for and of the other child he had lost so many years before.

It was an impossible hope, but it was a hope all the same.

When Rosie asked to leave, only an hour or so later, Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Booth, who was still caught up in a discussion with the Sheriff and Hopper. 

"Very well, dear," he murmured. "We'll need to stop by Granny's briefly. I have something I need to collect."

Widow Lucas was - as women were prone to be - easily distracted by Jenny's presence. He took the opportunity to leave her talking in her warm, brash tones to Rosie and slipped upstairs. It took the work of two minutes to break into Booth's room, and less than that to find what he was looking for.

The picture of the dagger.

His name etched on it. 

Bae.

It couldn't be that simple. Bae couldn't just walk into his life, just like that. It had been an uphill struggle to even get this far. It couldn't be as easy as that. 

No.

It wasn't as easy as that.

He saw the suspicion and wariness that the man who might be Bae directed at him. If it was his son - was it? He couldn't be sure - then his son hated and feared him. Who could blame him? After all, his father was the one to cast him out, into this world. 

He returned to Rosie, who seemed to know something had happened. She didn't ask anything as he drove home, nor as they took tea. Even when she settled Jenny and put her in her cradle, she didn't say anything. It was only when he put the light out and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Something's wrong," she said quietly.

"Mm?"

She laid her hand over his heart. "You've gone blank," she whispered. "When you look at me, at Jenny, you don't go blank. But now, you have. What's wrong?"

He stared blindly at the ceiling in the darkness. "My past seems to be catching up with me," he murmured. He squeezed her shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, Rosie. Only playing on my mind."

She was quiet for a long while, then whispered, "I know that feeling." She shivered by his side. "I-I went into the alley by the diner the other day. When they found Kathryn."

Rumpelstiltskin hissed between his teeth. No wonder her nightmares had returned. "Why didn't you say?"

"I-I... you had other things to think about," she whispered unhappily. "I can't stop remembering. I-I'd like to talk to Archie, but here. It's... safe here."

He held her close, pressing his lips to her hair. "I'll call him tomorrow," he murmured. "I have some matters to attend to, but he can come over."

She splayed her fingers on his chest. "Thank you."

The next morning, he left the house before breakfast, stopping at Hopper's office with explicit instructions to get to the Gold house as soon as possible, because one of his patients had an urgent need to speak with him. Rumpelstiltskin knew that Hopper was protective of Rosie, and even more so after he had heard her tale. 

His own business was of a more personal nature.

He kept a close watch on Booth, saw him fraternising with the nuns, and gleaned what little information he could from the sources that were available. The more he heard, the more it solidified his belief that the man walking through the town, the stranger, could be his child. 

Emotions were never his strong point.

Anger, perhaps, but not working towards forgiveness.

He had to admit a little relief when he returned to his home, and found that Hopper was still there. Rosie was sitting on the floor with Jenny, and she was looking more at ease than she had in some days. She was speaking quietly to Hopper, but she looked up with a small, tentative smile when Rumpelstiltskin entered the house.

"Hey," he said.

She scrambled to her feet, walking over to him and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Rumpelstiltskin lifted a hand to cup the back of her head gently. "Better?" he murmured.

"Getting there," she replied, drawing back. "Thank you."

He smiled as much as he could. "Do you mind if I borrow the doctor for a few minutes?"

Rosie shook her head. "Can you watch Jenny, while I make dinner?" she said, squeezing his arm. 

"Of course," he replied. "Take your time."

Doctor Hopper was crouched down beside Jenny, helping her build a tower of blocks, but he looked up, then rose as Rumpelstiltskin approached. "Mr Gold."

"Thank you for your assistance," Rumpelstiltskin said. "Rosie was in need of your help."

The doctor smiled quickly. "That's what I'm here for," he said. He glanced beyond Rumpelstiltskin. "She'll be okay, but it'll take time."

"I know," Rumpelstiltskin said, drawing a breath. "I wanted to speak to you on a... personal matter."

Hopper looked at him in astonishment. "You? Really?"

Rumpelstiltskin drummed his fingers on his cane. "I need discretion," he said.

Hopper sat back down. "Of course," he said, motioning for Rumpelstiltskin to sit. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Rumpelstiltskin sat, smiling sadly as Jenny got to her feet and determinedly toddled towards him. He lifted her up into his lap. "I'm not a patient."

"It still applies," Hopper said. "How can I help?"

Rumpelstiltskin looked down at Jenny, who beamed up at him, holding one of her blocks up to him. He took it, then looked up at Hopper. "It's about my son."

"A son?" Hopper looked like he had been struck between the eyes. "I didn't know you had a son."

Rumpelstiltskin looked at his daughter. "No," he said. "Few do." He looked up at Hopper. "It's a long and troubled tale, but that's not what I need the advice about."

The doctor listened, as he was paid to do, and Rumpelstiltskin spoke. It was halting and uncomfortable and it felt like he was revealing too much to a stranger, but he was lost with how to approach the man who might be his son. In the end, the advice he was given was the advice he knew he should follow. The thought made his hands tremble and his heart race, but he had come to far not to face his past now. 

He saw Hopper to the door, calling on Rosie to come and make her farewells. 

While she was distracted by thank the doctor, he called on the inn and asked for a message to be passed on to Mr Booth. A meeting later that evening. An arrangement. A reunion, perhaps. Somewhere out of the way. Somewhere where his vulnerability would not be seen by others. Somewhere that was like the home he and his son had both left behind so long ago. 

"Did Archie help?" Rosie asked, approaching as he set the telephone receiver down.

He looked at her. She seemed calmer than he felt for once. "I think so," he said. "How was your day?"

She smiled shyly. "I think it got better," she said, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen. 

He stopped short at the sight of a small and familiar object on the counter: the chipped cup. Rosie released his hand as he walked towards it. She had pieced it all together, and he could see the faint lines of the cracks in the china, but from ten paces away, it looked as it always had. 

He picked it up, his hand trembling, and turned it, gazing at it. There were minute shards missing, here and there, where fragments had been too small to fit together, but it was his chipped cup. Her chipped cup.

"It's cracked," she offered softly, "but you can hardly see it."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes pricked with tears. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered.


	18. Chapter 18

It was raining, turning the world a dull shade of grey.

Rosie watched the drops pattering against the glass. Jenny was curled up in her lap, thumb in mouth, and half-asleep. It had been a long day for both of them, and Jenny had worn herself out showing off for Archie. Somehow, having her climbing all over the psychiatrist made it easier to talk to him. It was difficult to be intimidated by a man with a toddler halfway onto his shoulder.

"She should sleep well tonight," Mr Gold said as he entered the room. He was carrying two mugs in his left hand, a concession to the difficulties of carrying a tray.

"She's had too much excitement," Rosie said, looking up at him with a tired smile. 

Mr Gold sat down on the chair beside the couch and set the mugs down on the table. "I think we all have," he said, looking at her with concern. As much as Archie had helped by listening, and as much as it had eased the tension in her, she knew Mr Gold watched her more closely. 

"I'm all right," she said quietly. "Honestly."

"You know I'm always concerned, sweetheart," he said, pushing the mug across the table to her. "I don't want to see you scared."

She smiled wanly, leaning forward to pick up her mug. "I'm working on it," she assured him. "I'm getting better."

"I know," he said with a smile as drawn as her own. "We both are, aren't we?"

She raised her cup in a mock-toast. "To getting better," she said.

"Hear hear," he said, then looked down at Jenny. "Did she eat enough at dinner?"

"Enough to sleep through the night," Rosie said, gently rocking the child. "I don't mind getting up if she wakes." Jenny murmured drowsily, snuggling closer to her chest, her small hands tugging at Rosie's blouse. She glanced up. "Did Archie help?"

For a moment, a hunted look crossed his face. "Help?"

"You wanted to talk to him," Rosie said quietly. "Was it something he could help you with?"

He looked at the mug wrapped between his hands, as if that would give him the answer. "I mentioned my past had been troubling me," he said finally, slowly, as if uncertain how to proceed. He raised his eyes to her. "When I was younger, I had a son."

Rosie stared at him blankly. "A son?"

He nodded, looking back down at his tea. "I was married. A long time ago."

Rosie had to put down her cup, her hand trembling. There were no pictures around the house that suggested he had a wife or a son. "I-I didn't know," she said quietly. He didn't look up at her. In fact, he looked even more worn and tired than he had in the last two days. 

"No. Not many do," he murmured. He set the mug down and propped his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. "It wasn't a happy marriage. We were ill-suited." He tapped one thumb over the other. "The only good thing to come out of it was our son."

Rosie wrapped her arms more snugly around Jenny. She didn't know why, but the graveness of his features, the weariness made something unpleasant and fearful twist inside her. "Where is he?" she asked quietly. "Why don't you have any pictures of him?"

Mr Gold ran a hand over his face. "It's a long and messy story," he replied, his voice heavy. "There were... disagreements. I wasn't a good person, and he wanted me to change." His brown eyes met hers. "You know well enough my tendency to sabotage myself. I pushed him away, and by the time I realised my mistake, I'd lost him."

Rosie looked down at their child. "Now, you have Jenny. Is... is that what brought things back?"

"In part," he said quietly. "I've lost so much, but now, I have you and Jenny, and I keep hoping..." He shook his head. "I don't know if it's possible that I could still find him, make amends somehow."

Rosie looked down at Jenny, remembering how things had been, remembering how they had improved so much. "Well," she offered tentatively, "you've made a good start." She tried to smile, but it didn't come as easily as she hoped. "If you find him, I'm sure he'll see that."

"If," he echoed. He picked up his mug and sat back slowly, a pensive look on his face.

Rosie wanted to ask more, but from the way he had spoken, it sounded like a painful subject, and she knew better than most the hurt of touching on old wounds. She took her tea up again and sipped at it, occasionally glancing across at him.

Finally, after an unbearably long silence, he set his mug down. 

"If you'll excuse me, Rosie," he said, "I have an appointment this evening."

She nodded wordlessly, setting her mug down too. “Will you be back late?”

He rose stiffly, as if he was ten times his age. “I honestly don’t know, love,” he said. He looked down at his hands, then back at her. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come back.”

Rosie nodded again, unable to think of a thing to say, even when he approached, even when he leaned down, even when he tilted her chin up so gently, gazed at her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Get some sleep, if you can,” he said.

“I-I’ll try,” she said in a whisper.

All the same, when he left the house, anxiety knotted around her.

It was ridiculous and stupid and pointless, but all that he had said of a wife and a son that no one knew about had unnerved her. She knew he cared, for her and Jenny both, but maybe he had once cared for his wife, for his son. 

She knew it was foolishness.

He said himself, he was working hard to be a better man for her, for their child, for the memory of his lost son.

And yet, even as she laid Jenny down to sleep, her mind was turning his words over and over like a mantra: my tendency to sabotage myself. He did. He hurt himself by hurting the people closest to him, and she couldn’t help fearing the day he broke apart what they had.

She lay in the bed, alone in the dark, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

It was always the worst when her heart was fluttering and her chest felt tight, and the anxiety made her breath come quick and shallow. 

Rosie pulled on her dressing gown and checked Jenny before making her way downstairs. Tea wasn’t much of a substitute, but it was better than nothing, and sometimes, if she was lucky, the camomile helped calm her.

There was enough moonlight cutting through the clouds and across the kitchen floor that she didn’t need to switch on the lights. She padded to the kettle, putting it on, and when it was done, took her cup over to the window, looking out into the garden.

It was late, and it was dark, and she was tired, but her mind wouldn’t stop.

The tea was cold, barely touched, when she heard the key in the front door.

She set down her cup and crossed the floor, pausing with her hand on the handle of the kitchen door. It was ajar, and she knew Mr Gold wouldn’t mind that she was up, but it felt weak to admit she’d been hiding in the kitchen, unable to face lying in a lonely bed, worrying he might cast her out again.

She peeked through the gap between door and frame.

Her heart gave a sickening lurch.

Mr Gold was standing in the hall. He looked pale, his features taut with a rage she hadn’t seen for weeks, months. She could see his chest rising and falling with ragged, furious breaths, and in his right hand…

Rosie pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sound of alarm.

He was carrying a knife and from the pale light cutting through the panels in the front door, she could see the shimmer of red on the surface. He looked down at it, turning it over in his hand, and she saw the way his lips drew back from his teeth.

Someone had made him angry enough to use a knife. 

Someone had made him angry.

He strode into the living room, and she heard a drawer open, then shut again. When he returned to the hall, his hand was empty, and she held her breath as he made his way up the stairs. He was going to their room. He was expecting her to be there.

Rosie swallowed down the terror that was making her knees shake and made her way up the stairs after him.

The bedside lamp was on when she reached the top of the stairs, and her hands shook as she pushed the door open.

Mr Gold was standing beside the crib, one hand on the end of it, and was watching Jenny.

Rosie took a deep breath. “Hey,” she whispered.

Mr Gold tore his gaze away from Jenny, looking at her.

“I-I was getting some air out the back,” she lied. It felt safer than letting him know she had seen the knife. 

He walked towards her, carefully, without his cane, and put his hands on her shoulders. His hands were warm, warmer than her bare arms. “You won’t take her away from me,” he said, his voice taut. 

“W-what?” Rosie asked, shaking her head.

“Jenny,” he said, his voice low and tense. His hands squeezed her upper arms, almost to the point of pain. “Promise me you won’t take her away from me.” She stared at him, too startled to say anything. There was a strange, wild gleam in his eyes and he shook her. “Promise me you won’t take her away.”

Rosie nodded, trembling from head to toe.

He bared his teeth and shook her again. “Say it,” he snarled. “Promise me!”

“I-I promise,” she whispered. Her eyes were burning and her arms were hurting, and for the first time since he’d brought her back, she remembered why she had been so afraid of him for so long. She tried to breathe in, out, steadily, but she couldn’t. “Y-you’re hurting me.”

It was like she flicked a switch.

Mr Gold jerked his hands back as if burnt, staring at them, then at her. “Oh, sweetheart…”

She looked down, away, shaking her head. It was like the first night, all over again: anger and hurt and fear. “I-I need to go to bed,” she whispered. “Please leave.”

“Rosie…”

She raised a hand, trembling, to silence him. “Please,” she whispered.

He reached out to her, and she hated herself as much as she hated him in that moment when she flinched back from his hand. She couldn’t bear to look at his face, not to see the guilt and reproach. She loved him, but that didn’t mean she had to let him frighten her.

Mr Gold lowered his hand. “I’ll be in my room,” he said quietly, “if you need anything.”

She nodded, twisting her hands into the fabric of her dressing gown, her eyes on the floor.

“Rosie,” he said, his voice so soft, so gentle, not snarling anymore, not cruel, not with knives or blood or pain. “Rosie, look at me, sweetheart.”

“Can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not now. Go. Please.”

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, so gentle that she almost cried there and then. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His words were all it took and there were tears on her cheeks, hot and wet, and she had to turn away from him, burying her face in her trembling hands. 

You know my tendency to sabotage myself, he had said. She knew. She knew it, and she knew that was why she couldn’t ever walk away from him. He pushed people away to hurt himself, without ever realising, and she couldn’t leave him to hurt himself, not again.

All the same, she couldn’t let him touch her, hold her, not when she could still feel the marks of his fingers aching in the flesh of her arms. 

She didn’t turn around, not until she heard the door close quietly behind him, and only then did she manage to walk stiff-legged to the bed. She sat, feeling older, exhausted, and folded her hands together, crushing them between her knees.

She needed someone to hold, something, but she couldn’t wake Jenny, not just to calm herself. It was selfish and it would upset the child, who always could tell when her mother was in a state. 

Rosie sat there for a long while. 

She must have cried, because the front of her dressing gown was damp and her throat was sore, but she couldn’t remember it. All she could think of was the knife downstairs, the knife with blood on it, the knife that could mean he would be taken away from her and Jenny.

She promised she wouldn’t take Jenny from him, but if he had hurt someone, if he had done something that meant he would be taken away from them, how could she keep that promise? If he was taken away, then she was left alone and with Jenny, with no one to protect them, no one to stop people like Morgan coming after her all over again. 

He wouldn’t tell her what had happened, not after frightening her so much.

He would go back to sheltering her, and he would never tell her who he was meeting, what the knife was for, whose blood was on the blade. He would pretend she didn’t know about how bad the world could be, even though that world was the thing that had kept her alive.

It was… sweet that he believed she was still innocent of such things. Foolish, but sweet.

She crawled into the cold bed, drawing the blankets tight around her, but it was empty and she was alone and she knew she wouldn’t sleep. All she could think of was the knife. The knife that could ruin everything if it was found, and if he was accused. 

When Jenny woke, some six hours later, Rosie was already up, gazing out of the window.

She made breakfast for all three of them on autopilot, and made herself smile when Mr Gold came into the kitchen. He looked as haggard as she felt, with shadows under his eyes, and a paleness that told her he had probably slept as little as she had.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Morning,” she acknowledged. She’d left her dressing gown upstairs, and she knew his eyes were on the marks he’d left on her arms. She didn’t need to look at him to feel his attention, and she didn’t want to look at him for fear of what she would see in his eyes. She served up breakfast and sat down opposite him, Jenny on her lap. “How was your meeting?”

He made a querying sound.

“Last night,” she said quietly, looking across at him. “You had a meeting. Late. B-before you came home.”

His expression was tense, miserable, angry, a thousand emotions crushed together. “It was… disappointing,” he said. “The client wasn’t looking for the same thing as I was. We couldn’t do business.”

It was too personal, whatever it was, and after everything he had said the day before, she wondered it perhaps it was something to do with his son. She couldn’t think of any other reason he would become so ferociously possessive of Jenny, not so suddenly.

She prodded her food around the plate. “Can I help? Is there something you need help with?” she offered quietly, giving him the opening to tell her about what happened, about the knife, about why he had hurt her.

He set down his fork, his own breakfast barely touched and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I don’t think so, love,” he said. “It’s all taken care of.”

Rosie looked down at her plate, scooping up some egg for Jenny. “Okay,” she said quietly, wishing she was brave enough to call him on his lie. 

They didn’t say any more, and he only drank his tea before rising. “I should get to the shop,” he said. “I’m expecting a caller.”

“I’ll do the shopping today,” Rosie said. “Will you be home for dinner?”

He approached her, and she tensed, her arms around Jenny. “Would you want me home for dinner, love?”

She looked up at him. “I want you here,” she said softly. “With us. We’re a family. We’re meant to be together.”

“Even after…” His words trailed off, shame rife on his features.

Rosie swallowed hard, reaching out and taking his hand. “Even after that,” she said. “You wanted me to promise. I want you to promise too. Promise you won’t leave us.”

“Never,” he whispered, squeezing her hand gently. “Not again.”

She tried to smile, but her lips trembled and failed. “We’ll be okay,” she told him - and herself. “We’re going to be fine.”

When he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, she could almost believe it. He kissed Jenny too, and with a last look at both of them, he made his way to the door.

Rosie hurried through to the living room, Jenny in her arms, and peeped around the curtain, watching him drive away in the car. Only when she was sure he was gone did she set Jenny down in her playpen, and started searching the room for the drawer and the knife. 

It had to be somewhere she wouldn’t have otherwise looked, somewhere that didn’t need cleaned and could be reached in three easy steps from the door.

She checked each of the cabinets, then looked at the old dresser. It had been a wooden sound, so it couldn’t have been anything but the drawers there. She checked each drawer, but there was nothing. Her fingers skimmed over the edges of the dresser, searching for some hidden recess or crevice. 

Something clicked under her fingertips and she bit her lip as a narrow, flat drawer, visible but well disguised in the edge of the dresser slid open. The knife was there. It looked like something from a Ren faire, all curly edged with fancy writing on it. There was a name on it too, something from a fairytale. 

Rosie’s heart was pounding, as she wrapped a cloth around the grip and picked it up. She could see the blood along the edge, dark, but not a lot. He hadn’t stabbed someone, but he had cut them enough to make them bleed and that was bad.

It had to be hidden somewhere away from the house, somewhere it couldn’t be linked to him if it was found. If the Sheriff found it, no matter how much she liked Rosie, Rosie knew Emma would press charges. She would say Mr Gold was dangerous, and if he was dangerous, he would be taken away and Rosie couldn’t let that happen. 

There was only one person who hated the Sheriff and would want to keep secrets from her, and who Rosie trusted. 

She wrapped the knife up in a cloth, dressed Jenny, and set out for City Hall. 

Regina would know what to do with it.


	19. Chapter 19

Rumpelstiltskin felt hollow.

The man who should have been Bae was nothing but a liar. He wished he had pressed a little harder with the knife, cut deep, let him bleed. It was blind stupidity to believe that the wooden boy could convince the Saviour, but Rumpelstiltskin took refuge in the knowledge that even if he failed, Pincchio would have a slow and painful death instead. 

It hadn't taken much presumption to work out who August W. Booth really was. There were few people who were as well-known for their lies in the Enchanted Forest, and someone who needed magic to stay alive could only have been a creature transformed from something that had not lived and breathed. 

Magical transformations could be done painlessly, but the boy was haemorrhaging magic. The power that sustained him was eking away, little by little, and cell by cell, he would turn back, changing, becoming what he had once been, and it would hurt as life was stripped from him inch by inch.

Better than a quick cut, bloody hands, and a body to hide. If he couldn't help the Sheriff to do what she was born to do, he might as well make use of those who could guide her.

Those were the thoughts that crowded into Rumpelstiltskin's mind as he drove home from his encounter with Booth. There was fury, grief, frustration, and above all, fear. He had two children. One who was lost to him, and one who was so recently found. Only the thought of the one still close at hand had stayed his blade and saved Pinocchio's worthless life. He could not let Jenny be taken from him, not now that he had her.

He had returned to the house, concealed the knife, and gone to Jenny, his child, his daughter, the most precious thing in his life after Bae and Belle. He didn't even notice Rosie was absent until she entered the room, and then, he had let the anger, the pent up desperation of centuries, get the better of him.

He hurt Rosie.

He did the one thing he promised himself he would never do again.

She looked at him, and there was fear in her eyes for the first time in weeks. 

She sent him away from her, and when he closed the door behind him, he didn't blame her. 

He didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. Everything was too close to the surface: Bae, Jenny, Belle or Rosie, the curse so close to being broken, but not broken yet. If Pinocchio was telling the truth - which was doubtful - then he might have a chance of persuading the Saviour. If not, seeing a man turn to wood before her eyes might be compelling enough evidence to change her mind. 

He heard her when she went downstairs to make breakfast. He changed, then went down to the kitchen. She looked as drawn and weary as he felt. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of bruises on her arms, the marks of his fingers darkening her skin.

Neither of them could pretend nothing had happened. 

She sat down opposite him, Jenny in her arms, and asked about the meeting. He knew what she was asking: she wanted to know why he had acted the way he had. She wanted to know why he had hurt her and scared her all over again. And he couldn't tell her, not about the man, about the knife, about the son he believed he had found. 

"It's all taken care of," he demurred.

She looked at him so sadly that he knew she didn't believe him, but he couldn't explain to her how close he had come to killing a man, that she and their child were the only thing keeping him on the edge of sanity. She didn't need the burden of that knowledge, not when she already had enough to deal with.

They finished breakfast, and when he rose to depart, when he looked askance at her, she looked at him, and she said the words that made his heart break all over again for the hell he had put her through: We're a family. We're meant to be together. 

When she asked for his promise, how could he do anything but give it? It was something far more binding than any deal. If anyone tried to take him from them or vice versa...

No one would come between. No one would live if they tried. 

They were together, and they were going to be fine.

He went to the shop, holding on to that thought. 

He worked.

He came home.

Rosie managed to smile and he managed to return it. Jenny got spaghetti in her hair, staining her tousled curls, and they both laughed. It was a crack in the ice, and for the first time all day, he could almost believe that they would be all right. 

"I'll need to bath her," Rosie said. The wordless invitation was there, and he glanced at the dishes. "Leave them," she said. "They can wait."

They went up the stairs together, and Rumpelstiltskin rested his hand lightly, cautiously, at the base of Rosie's back. She didn't flinch or pull away, though he couldn't ignore the fact that she tensed, only for a moment, and only a little, but enough to know his actions of the previous night hadn't been forgotten.

Rumpelstiltskin withdrew his hand. "Shall I run the bath?" he offered quietly, as they approached the room.

Rosie looked at him, and for a moment, there was indecision, then she held Jenny out to him. "You can get her undressed," she said, and he knew exactly how precious that gesture was. She might be afraid of him, she knew he could be violent, but she trusted him with their child.

Jenny looked up at him expectantly and held out her arms. "Papa!"

His hands shook as he took their daughter, and Rosie hurried towards the bathroom, to run the water. 

Rumpelstiltskin sank to sit on the bed and closed his eyes, just breathing in the scent of the child - with the addition of tomato - as she wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled closer. He could remember when Bae had been small enough to do that, his precious boy.

"Do I even look like him at all?"

The puppet had asked that, half-derisive, half-pitying.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't know what made it worse: that the question had been asked or that Booth was right.

He had a drawing, a picture marked in ink on parchment, almost faded away to nothing, but it was of the child Bae had been before his mother left them, not the lion-hearted youth he had become. He had tried - so many times - to drag his memories from his mind, fix the image of his son on parchment, canvas, anything, hold onto him, but they were wavering and intangible. Magic was always cruellest to the most desperate.

How would he know his son, if he saw him? How could he be sure of who he was looking at?

The rush of water from the bathroom and the rattle of bottles jarred him from his thoughts.

He tried to gather himself, to keep from breaking apart, and looked down at Jenny. She had tugged his tie loose from his tiepin and was tangling the two ends together between her hands. She had his eyes, just like Bae. That was what he could remember. Those brown eyes, the disbelief, the horror, the brief flicker of hatred before he vanished and the portal closed on him. 

Jenny beamed at him, showing all of her teeth. She babbled a stream of nonsense at him, waving the ends of the tie.

"Tie," he murmured, catching one end.

"Tie!" Jenny replied, grabbing it back from him and tugging. "Tie tie tie!"

"We won't hear the end of that now," Rosie said quietly from the bathroom door.

"Mama! Mama tie! Tiiiiiiiiiiiie!"

Rumpelstiltskin kept his eyes on the child, working the buttons of her dress undone. "There are worse things a child could say," he said.

Coward, he remembered. 

Rosie didn't say anything, nor did she move, her shadow cast from the bathroom across the bedroom floor. 

Jenny wriggled determinedly in Rumpelstiltskin's grip, tensing her arms and stiffening her body as he divested her of her clothing. "No!" She clung onto the dress when he tried to pull it over her head, baring her teeth at him and pulling back against it. 

"Doesn't she like baths?"

Rosie laughed quietly, tiredly. "Loves them," she said. "She just forgets until she gets in the water." She walked closer, barefoot on the wooden floor. "Did your son?"

He couldn't look up at her. "He preferred throwing himself into a stream near our home," he finally said. "The boy was convinced he was part-fish." He almost laughed, but the sound broke at the memory. "Scared me half to death more times than I can count." 

Jenny squirmed free as he managed to get the dress over her head and held up her arms to her mother.

Rosie scooped her up. "At least there isn't a stream nearby," she said, propping Jenny on her hip. She looked at their daughter, who was tugging at the waist of her diaper. "No scaring papa."

If only it was as easily done as said.

He rose from the bed and followed her back through to the bathroom with the child. Jenny shrieked, as she was freed from her diaper, and her mother lowered her over the side of the bathtub. It looked like there was some kind of feeding frenzy going on in the water the minute Jenny's feet touched the surface. She thrashed and screeched as if she were being dipped in boiling oil, soaking herself and her mother. 

"Get her duck," Rosie said, her face half-turned away from Jenny, one eye squeezed closed against the water. "It's on the shelf."

Rumpelstiltskin looked around, spotting the small, plain yellow duck, and tossed it over Rosie's head. It hit the water with a splash.

It was like a switch her been flipped. 

Jenny cooed, suddenly calm, sitting upright in the frothy water, and reached out for the duck.

Rosie sat back on her heels beside the tub, pushing wet hair back from her face. "She has your temper," she murmured, without looking at him. 

Rumpelstiltskin leaned against the doorframe, uncertain what to say. "Rosie..."

She looked up at him, her expression solemn. "I know," she said. She knelt up and scooped water over Jenny's head, earning an indignant squall from the baby. "Can you pass me the shampoo?"

He did so, approaching to stand by her, watching as she washed their daughter's hair gently. "I'm not a good person, Rosie."

"But you're not a bad person either," she said quietly. "You're somewhere in the middle. Where you go, it's up to you." She looked up at him. "I'm going to be there, whatever you choose." Her lips trembled in a smile. "No matter what you've done."

Rumpelstiltskin's fingers ghosted over her hair, but he made himself turn, walk from the room.

She never believed he was a monster, as much as he had tried to convince her.

When she told him so, in that world, where he knew he was worse than she could possibly know, he didn't believe her. She tried to break his curse. She tried to save him. 

Now, she was casting herself into the pit with the beast who was the reason for all her suffering. She knew what he was capable of, because he had done it all to her. She knew, and still, she wanted to stay. He hurt her and damaged her and ruined her, and still, she wanted to stay.

He wished he hadn't cleared the liquor cabinet.

Oblivion would have been a blessing. 

He was standing by the window when Rosie came back through, Jenny burbling in her arms. 

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly. 

"You deserve better," he said, gazing out into the back garden. The moonlight had painted the world in silver. "Someone else."

"I don't want someone else," she murmured. He heard the creak of the cradle as Jenny was set down, and she approached him, her feet making soft sounds on the floor. "I want to stay with you."

"Why?" he asked, staring blindly at the window, their reflections shivering in the dark glass. His eyes were burning, but he refused to let the tears of guilt, of shame fall. "After everything I've done to you? To Jenny? I've hurt people, Rosie. I've hurt you."

She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "Because," she whispered, "you need me."

He laid his hands over hers and closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. He couldn't say anything, because he knew she was right.


	20. Chapter 20

Rosie was calm.

Her hands were steady.

A choice had been made.

She was being brave because she had to be. 

It felt strange to be the calm one. All of her friends seemed to be worked up: Mr Gold, Emma, Regina. Even Mary Margaret was still on edge, but since she had just been accused and acquitted of murder, Rosie could understand that. As for Regina and Emma, they were both on edge about Henry. 

Rosie understood why it was so difficult for them to accept they both had a part in his life. She remembered how afraid she had been that Mr Gold would try and take Jenny away. That was what Regina was afraid of, but then Emma was afraid that Regina was too controlling a mother. Henry - in the middle - seemed to like Emma more, which made Regina even more upset.

Rosie tried not to get caught up in the middle, but it was difficult since they had both been so kind to her.

She met Mary Margaret at the diner for tea and cakes, several days after the party to celebrate her innocence. Both of them needed to get out of their respective houses for a few days, and sit with someone who wasn't having some kind of crisis. At least, who didn't appear to be having a crisis.

Rosie knew the knife Mr Gold had was safely hidden, but it didn't stop her worrying that he might have done something to get in more trouble than she could help him with. 

Mary Margaret looked just as tired and harried when she slid into the booth opposite Rosie and Jenny. Jenny was sitting on Rosie's lap, picking apart a muffin to take the chocolate chips and she beamed, holding one out Mary Margaret in chocolatey fingers.

"Chocit," she informed her.

Mary Margaret smiled, but it vanished quickly. "Thank you," she said, accepting the sticky mess.

"Are you okay?" Rosie asked, watching her with concern.

Mary Margaret glanced up with another fleeting smile as Ruby delivered a mug of hot chocolate, then shook her head. "Not great," she admitted. "This whole Regina and Emma thing is coming to a head, and I don't think anyone's going to be happy with the result." She prodded at the cream on top of her chocolate. "You wouldn't think having two mothers who loved you would be such a problem."

"As long as it's good for Henry, that's the important thing," Rosie said, opening her mouth to let Jenny feed her a piece of muffin.

"That's the problem," Mary Margaret murmured. "Regina isn't exactly good mother material."

Rosie felt the colour rising in her face, remembering her own history: alcohol and sex and violence. "What makes a good mother, then?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. 

Mary Margaret looked across the table at her. "Someone who puts their child's well-being above their own happiness," she said simply. "Like you." Rosie stared back at her. It felt like she had just been knocked sideways. "Everything you've done, you've done for Jenny, to make sure she's healthy and happy. Regina... she provides for Henry, but she doesn't seem to see how unhappy he is."

Rosie looked down at her daughter. She remembered the few times she had met Henry. He always seemed quiet and serious, except when he was around Emma. "She loves him," she said, raising her eyes to Mary Margaret. "She might not be very good at showing it, but she loves him."

"I don't doubt it," Mary Margaret said quietly, "but that doesn't make a good parent. She can be dangerous."

Rosie averted her gaze. Regina could be intimidating, it was true, but so could Gold, and that didn't mean that he was a bad parent. Regina doted on Henry. Maybe she wasn't affectionate, but that didn't mean she didn't care. She was a busy woman, running the town and raising a son. 

"She's my friend," Rosie said quietly. 

Mary Margaret turned the mug in her hands. "She was the one who framed me," she said finally.

Rosie felt as if she had been doused in icy water. "Sidney Glass," she said. "He was the one who did it."

Mary Margaret held her gaze. "Emma says that he did it on Regina's say so," she said quietly.

"Emma doesn't want to see any good in Regina," Rosie argued. "Regina helped me. She found me a home, when no one else would help me. How can you say she's a bad person?"

Mary Margaret set the cup down. "You really want to know?" she said, her expression grave. "She came to the jail, when I was in there. When I protested my innocence, she said she knew, but that I had to be punished. For what? I don't know." She shook her head. "I can forgive her. I can let it go. But how can I consider her a good person, when she did that?"

Rosie felt like a stone had settled in her stomach. "I-I don't understand," she said quietly. "Why would she do that?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "I don't know," she said. She reached across the table and caught Rosie's hand. "I know you get along with her, but if she decides you're her enemy, I don't know where she would stop." She squeezed Rosie's fingers. "Be her friend, but be safe. Whatever happens, you need to keep yourself and your child safe."

As if she understood what was being said, Jenny planted a sticky hand on top of their linked hands.

Both of them smiled.

"Back?" Jenny asked, putting her hand up towards Rosie's face.

"No, thank you," Rosie said, gently wrapping Jenny's hand in a napkin and wiping it clean. It felt safer to look at her child than to think about what Mary Margaret had just said. It felt like sides were being drawn up. Emma was standing against Regina as if they were enemies, rather than the mothers of the same child. 

Rosie didn't want to be drawn into any battles.

She already had enough to deal with. Her own demons were still riding her shoulders, and being strong for herself was hard enough without being dragged into a battle between two of the strongest women she knew. She already had a side to stand on anyway: Mr Gold. She would support him, because he supported her as no one else had. He and Jenny formed two sides of the triangle that made her feel like she could be brave and strong.

All the same, she had to ask, "What are they going to do?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "I don't know. All I know is Emma wants Henry to be safe and happy."

Rosie looked down at Jenny. "That's all any parent can hope for," she said quietly. 

She was still mulling over Mary Margaret's words over dinner that evening, lost in thought as Mr Gold did his best to feed Jenny without ending up spattered with food.

"Something troubling you?" he asked, once the final spoonful had been negotiated around grasping hands.

Rosie startled, shaking herself. What could she say? That Mary Margaret had accused her friend of being a terrible person? Or that she feared Regina might do something foolish to Emma to keep her son safe with her? Or that Emma, equally, might do something desperate to keep her son happy? They weren't her troubles to be dealing with.

She had him to worry about, the man who loved her but who hid so many things from her out of fear of scaring her.

"Just thinking," she said, "about Emma and Henry."

"She came to the shop the yesterday," Mr Gold said. He looked up at her. "She was considering getting custody of her boy."

Rosie - halfway to rising to clear the table - sat back down. "Take Henry from Regina?"

"Regina isn't keen on the idea," he said. His lips twitched, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "For some reason, they both thought I could help them keep custody of the boy." He lifted one hand to rub at his eyes. He looked tired, drawn. "Honestly, you let the world know you're a lawyer, and suddenly everyone is a client."

“What are you going to do?”

He shook his head. “Madam Mayor expected me to do some magic,” he said with a rueful smile. “To make the Sheriff just… disappear without a fuss, but Miss Swan is not someone to be forced or coerced into anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“Drawing battle lines and choosing sides,” she murmured, getting up from the table. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” he said, looking up from Jenny.

She picked up his plate, smiled. If he could hide a knife, she could keep her concerns about her friends from him. “Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking out loud.” She looked down at Jenny, who was yawning. “Do you think you could take her upstairs and get her cleaned up for bed?”

He looked so happy with the chance that he was neatly distracted from the subject of Emma and Regina and their battle over a son they both had. He didn’t need to have his thoughts pushed back to his lost child, not when it upset him so much. Let him have a moment with their daughter, and it would be better for both of them. 

“Does she need a bath?” he asked, looking down at Jenny, who grinned up at him, gravy up to her ears.

Rosie couldn’t help but smile. “You want to try that alone?” she said.

“I can run one, while you clear up down here,” he offered gallantly. “Then you can come and save me.”

“I’ll give you a ten minute head start,” she agreed.

Mr Gold smiled, rising, Jenny in his left arm, his cane in his right hand. “I’ll try and leave the bathroom intact for your arrival,” he said. 

She had barely finished clearing the table and wiping it down when there was a knock at the front door. Rosie frowned. They didn’t get many visitors, especially not so late in the evening, so she wiped her hands on a dishcloth and made her way to the door.

Emma Swan was standing there. She had a box under her arm and a drawn look on her face. “Hey.”

Rosie stared at the Sheriff in astonishment. “Emma? What are you doing here? I-I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, but…” She smiled quickly. “Do you want to come in?”

Emma stepped into the hall. “I can’t stay,” she said. “I just came to let you know I’m leaving town for a while.”

Rosie’s hand fell away from the door handle. It felt like the ground she had been standing on, the ground where she had two strong friends who would never back down, was faltering beneath her feet. “You’re leaving?”

Emma looked down at her feet, then back up. “Me and Regina fighting over Henry isn’t good for him. We both need some breathing space.” She looked at Rosie uncertainly. “I know we’re sort of friends, so I didn’t want to leave without telling you.”

Rosie stared at her, then ran forward and hugged Emma tightly. The Sheriff flinched as if startled, then hugged her back with one arm, careful and awkward. 

“You have to do what’s right for your child,” Rosie whispered. “Trust me, I get it.” She drew back, and she knew her eyes were a bit too bright. “You’ll come back to visit, right? And stay in touch?”

Emma’s lips twitched in a smile. “I’ll be back,” she promised. She looked surprised, so very surprised by Rosie’s reaction. She managed a shaky laugh and held up the box under her arm. “Regina even gave me something for the road. I think we’ve kinda made peace.”

“Good,” Rosie said fervently. “It’s good for both of you.” She caught Emma’s free hand and squeezed it. “We’ll look forward to seeing you again.” She hesitated, then asked, “Have you told Henry yet?”

Emma drew her hand back, lifting it up to push her hair back in a self-conscious gesture. “Not yet,” she admitted. “I called him and asked him to come by after he has dinner.” For a moment, she looked as if she was changing her mind. “I-I don’t know how he’ll take it.”

“You’re not going to be gone forever,” Rosie said. “He’ll still see you.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah,” she said quietly. She forced another quick, tired smile. “You take care, okay? Don’t let that son of a bitch push you around.”

Rosie smiled crookedly. “He’s upstairs, trying to bath the baby,” she said. “I think I’m doing the pushing now.” She opened the door up again for Emma. “Drive safely, okay?”

Emma nodded as she stepped out of the door and ran down the steps. 

Rosie watched as she drove off in the squad car. She felt an odd sense of relief mixed in with sadness at Emma’s departure. It was good for Regina and Emma, she knew. Fighting someone took a lot of energy, and Henry would get used to having both of them as mothers, but in a less hostile environment.

She closed the door.

It would be better all round.

She ran up the stairs to make sure that Jenny hadn’t drowned her father, and smiled as she drew closer. She could hear him telling a story over the rush of the bathwater, and Jenny was burbling back at him.

“And do you know what that very brave young lady said?” He was speaking in soft, conspiratorial tones. “She said ‘I will go with you, forever’ to the big bad beast. And the beast was very surprised, because everyone thought he was a monster, and no one could ever want to go with a monster.”

Jenny giggled.

Rosie peeked around the edge of the doorframe. 

Mr Gold was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat, negotiating Jenny’s arms out of her t-shirt, and it looked like speaking softly while he did so was distracting her long enough not to notice. “So the terrible beast took the fair maiden,” he continued, “back to his castle. He liked the maiden far too much, and to his surprise, the maiden seemed to like him.”

Rosie edged into the bathroom, the hinges of the door creaking, and he looked up, startled, his expression unguarded for once. It only lasted a moment before Jenny took his distraction as an opportunity to start wriggling again. 

“So, what happened?” she asked.

“Happened?” he said, as he managed to get Jenny to hold still. 

“To the monster and the maiden?”

He looked up at her, and for a moment, there was an expression she couldn’t identify in his eyes. “He did what monsters do,” he said, looking down at Jenny. When he looked back up, he was smiling, almost convincingly. “Was someone at the door?”

She knelt down by the tub to check the temperature of the water. “Emma,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. “She’s leaving town.”

He was suddenly very still and very silent. “Leaving?”

Rosie offered her hands for Jenny, and he relinquished her without a moment of hesitation. “She’s doing it for Henry,” she said. “She knows that fighting Regina is just hurting him, so she’s leaving tonight.”

Mr Gold closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath. “Damn.”

“She was a good Sheriff,” Rosie said quietly, but she managed to smile. “At least she and Regina are seeing eye-to-eye now, though.”

Gold opened his eyes, frowning. “Is that so?”

Rosie nodded, stripping off Jenny’s diaper. “Regina even gave her something to eat on the road. A good luck present, I guess.”

Abruptly, Mr Gold stood up. “I’m afraid I forgot something at the shop,” he said. 

Rosie stared at him. “What?”

He made an impatient gesture with one hand. “The shop. I think I left something there I rather need. If you don’t mind, I’ll just run back.”

Rosie set Jenny on her feet by the tub. “Why do you need it now?”

His expression closed up. “Trust me, dearie,” he said, “it’s safer if you don’t know. I don’t think it should take too long.”

It was like the dagger all over again. Hiding things for her own good.

“As long as you’re not getting up to any mischief,” she said, turning away from him. “If you get in trouble again…” She left the words hanging in the air. She knew what he was capable of, she knew who he was, and yet, he tried to shield her from it.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even say goodnight. He just turned and walked away.

She bathed Jenny, distracting her with her duck, then got her ready for bed, combing out Jenny’s damp curls and ruffling them dry with a towel. She took over from Mr Gold’s choice of story, building a nest in her bed of pillows and blankets and curling up with her daughter, making it a better ending, where the monster just thought he was a monster, because everyone else told him so, but the maiden knew better.

It was an old story, true love saving the day, but she always did prefer a happy ending. The real world was bleak enough without taking happiness from fairytales.

Jenny wasn’t awake by the end of it, and Rosie considered moving her to her crib, but there was also no sign of Mr Gold. She remembered that sometimes, he would stay in the shop until the small hours, and if it was going to be another return like the return with the bloody knife, she didn’t want to be awake to see it.

She nestled down beside her daughter, drawing the blankets around them.

If he wanted to crawl in beside them when he got home, there was room.

She must have drifted to sleep, because she woke with a jolt, gasping.

It was daylight. Faint, grey sunlight was cutting through the half-closed curtains.

Jenny stirred grumpily, rubbing her face in her sleep.

Blue eyes darted around the room. It was her room. Her room in his house. His house. His new Dark Castle. His place, where he had lured her back into his bed, after leaving her again and again,then waiting here, leaving her to be a whore, and only looking for her when she was broken completely. 

Belle scrambled from the bed, grabbing at the first clothes she could find, dressing, and pulled on her shoes. Her hands were shaking with the fear that he might come back at any moment and expect her to be waiting. 

“Come on, Jenny,” she whispered, wrapping one of the blankets around Jenny and scooping her daughter up against her chest. “We have to get out of here.”


	21. Chapter 21

The haze of purple was clearing.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands were trembling, and he could taste the magic in the air, sharp, like metal on the tongue. It was still settling, erratic, but soon, he would be able to touch it with almost as much ease as he had in the other world.

It had been risky, stealing the bottled magic from the Sheriff and the Mayor, but his deal with Regina was null and void. The curse was broken. He, Rosie - Belle - and Jenny were free to be on their way and find Bae.

He made his way back through the woods, towards town.

His heart was racing, and he tried to push down the rising fear. It was one thing to go home and face Rosie, having left her alone through the night. It was another thing entirely to walk back through the door and face Belle, the woman he had loved but turned away. 

He had left the car at the edge of the forest and drove back to the house, but as soon as he mounted the bottom step, he knew something was wrong. The front door was ajar, and Rosie would never have left it open, not with the risk of strangers walking in.

Rumpelstiltskin pushed the door wide.

The house was too quiet.

A scatter of toys lay on the stairs, as if they had fallen there or been dropped.

He reached into the bureau near the door, withdrawing his revolver and moved deeper into the house. “Rosie?” he called out, checking each room as he went. There was no reply, not even a sound. A bitter, sick feeling burned at the back of his throat. He tried again. “Belle?”

He was halfway up the stairs when he felt a strange tenseness in his body.

His skin felt too tight, as if it was being pulled in a thousand directions at once, and pain shot through his skull, almost driving him to his knees. His name echoed through his mind, as if someone was calling on him.

Almost as soon as it was there, it was gone.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned against the banister, trembling.

It could only be one thing.

The dagger.

He had never been summoned, because the dagger had never fallen into anyone else’s hands, but it was locked away. It was safe. He had locked it away.

All the same, he stumbled back down the stairs and towards the cabinet, where no one could have found it. His fumbling fingers found the catch, and the hidden drawer slid out. Empty. 

Rumpelstiltskin staggered back, bracing his hand against the wall.

It was gone.

Belle was gone.

Jenny was gone.

“Regina,” he whispered darkly. There was no one else who could have or would have dared to take all three. The link between himself and the dagger had been brief, but that could be because the magic wasn’t stable yet. If it wasn’t stable, then he had time to find it, find her, find them, and make things right.

He swallowed down the burn of acid at the back of his throat.

Fear wouldn’t help, not here, not now.

For once in his life, he had to be brave.

By the time he pulled his car up outside the Mayor’s residence, it was just in time to see Snow White, the Prince and their child save Regina from the mob. The Queen was unarmed, and he rolled down his window in time to hear Snow White say, “She needs to be locked up.”

A tradition they were keen to continue, it seemed.

It would take them time to circumvent the mob, so he put his foot down and sped to the Sheriff’s station to wait for them, parking his car on the far side of the building. He concealed himself in one of the storage rooms, watching as Regina was hustled into the cell. She didn’t look as nervous as she should have, and that made him uneasy. 

“We need to find Gold,” Swan said.

He drew back in the shadows, remaining unseen, and waited until their footsteps died away before emerging into the office.

Regina’s hand was at the lock, but it looked like she was having trouble making a connection to the magic.

He set the end of his cane down against the floor with a tap.

Regina lifted her head, her eyes narrowing. “I wondered when you would show your face.”

“I think you know why I’m here,” he said. “Where are they?”

She rounded her eyes in mock innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please don’t lie,” he growled.

There was a moment of perfect stillness, then Regina started to laugh. “How about that?” she said, a delighted smile on her face. “Bring back magic, lose your initiative.” She wrapped her hands around the bars and grinned at him. “How are you going to get what you want now, Rumpel?”

He was across the floor in three steps, his hand around her throat, squeezing. “Tell me where they are!” he snarled.

Regina’s lips pulled back from her teeth in something somewhere between a smirk and a snarl. 

“Let her go!”

Rumpelstiltskin released Regina’s throat and whirled around at Belle’s voice. She was standing in the doorway, pale as snow. Jenny was in her sling against her mother’s chest and Belle had her arm wrapped protectively around the child. 

“Belle,” he breathed, taking a step towards her. 

She backstepped, shaking her head. “Don’t speak,” she whispered, and the fear in her voice stopped his tongue. She circled around him, her eyes - full of fear and suspicion - never leaving his face. “Back off.”

He could never refuse her, not after all he had done, so he drew back one step, two.

“Thank you, Belle,” Regina said hoarsely - a little too hoarsely. She was leaning heavily against the bars as if he’d had the chance to do some real damage. “I thought he would kill me.” Rumpelstiltskin wanted to scream in outrage, protest, self-defence, anything, but his tongue felt like lead. He only understood why when Regina asked, “Did you bring it?”

Belle - her eyes still on Rumpelstiltskin - nodded, and reached into her bag. She withdrew a bundle wrapped in cloth, and handed it to Regina, and he felt the sharp pull that he had felt on the stairs. Regina unwound the cloth and Rumpelstiltskin felt his legs tremble beneath him at the sight of his dagger. Belle was the one who had taken it. Belle was the one who had given it to Regina. Belle was working for the Queen.

“C-can I go now?” she whispered. “Back to the house?”

“Of course,” Regina said kindly. “Choose any room you like. I’ll be back soon.”

Rumpelstiltskin felt like the bottom was falling out of his world. “Belle,” he said, his voice raw, trembling. “You promised you wouldn’t go.”

Belle shrank back from him, more afraid and wary that Rosie. “I never promised,” she whispered. “She did. Rosie did. Not me.” She backed along the edge of the room, as if expecting him to grab for their child, then fled out the door. 

Rumpelstiltskin stared blankly after her. He was trembling. He was angry. He was hollow. He turned his head to look at Regina, who was smiling her widest, red-lipped smile, her fingertips caressing the blade of the dagger. “You bitch.”

“She was trying to protect you, you know,” Regina said, eyes glittering malevolently. “She saw you with the dagger. She thought you’d hurt someone, and knew I would hide it from the Sheriff. She thought it would keep you… out of trouble.”

He reached through the bars, grabbing wildly.

“Ah-ah!” Regina stepped back, holding up the blade. “You obey me now, Rumpelstiltskin. I want you to get me out of here, and when that’s done, I want you to go and bring me my son.”

He bared his teeth, but his hand rose against his will - trembling as he tried to resist - and pressed to the lock. The metal creaked and screamed and the door burst open. 

Regina smiled brightly, stepping out. “Thank you, dear. Now, my son, if you please.” She rapped the flat of the blade against her palm. “He should be at home with his mother.”

“Swan won’t give him up without a fight,” he said through clenched teeth.

Regina laughed. “Then fight her,” she said. “You can live or die however you please, but her… I want her to know how it feels when someone takes the one person you love away from you.” She leaned closer. “Bring him to me. By any means necessary.” She smiled. “And Rumpel, dear, don’t tell anyone about our little arrangement. This is all on you.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared blankly at her, then turned without conscious thought and walked back into the magic-thick streets of Storybrooke. The command felt like a millstone around his neck, and as much as he tried to resist it, his feet carried him forward. He was compelled to obey, and he had to, but she had not ordered him to silence. 

A painful, bitter smile curved his lips. 

She had made a deal she didn’t understand, and an enemy she thought she could control.

He would do as she wanted, but not as she expected.

They were looking for him, naturally, so they would have gone to his shop, and that was where he found them: Emma Swan, the Shepherd Prince and the Bandit Princess.

“What the hell is going on, Gold?” Swan demanded, pushing in front of her parents.

He held up a hand. “We don’t have much time, Sheriff,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, calm. “Regina has unleashed a terrible force. She wants Henry and she’s willing to destroy anyone who gets in her way.” He looked around. “Where is he?”

Emma lifted her chin defiantly. “Away from her.”

Rumpelstiltskin hissed through his teeth, the command lancing through his mind. “Listen to me,” he said urgently. “If she doesn’t have him in her care as soon as possible, people will start to die.”

“She’s not getting my son!” Emma snarled.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands leapt to his head, fighting against the urge of ‘by any means’. It felt like bands of metal constricting around his skull. “Gods, Swan! This is no time for stubbornness!”

“What’s this terrible force?” Snow White demanded, her hand on Emma’s shoulder.

Rumpelstiltskin lifted his head. He could feel blood oozing from his nose. His mind was aching at fighting the command. “Something you can’t beat,” he breathed. Magic was gathering around him. “I’m trying to save your damned life, Sheriff, you and half this wretched town.”

“Why should we trust you?” Charming asked, arms folded, eyes blazing. 

Rumpelstiltskin laughed sharply and unleashed a surge of magic, but jerking his hand back from striking at the family before him. The displays all along one wall erupted in shattered glass and broken wood. They shied back, and he could see fear and they understood now just who was against them. 

“Because I don’t have a choice in taking him,” he panted out. “But I do have a choice in not killing every last one of you.” He met Emma’s eyes. “My child as well as yours is on the line.”

Emma stared at him. “What has she done to you?” she whispered.

“Booth. Find Booth. He can tell you the tale.” His words were sharp, clipped, and he could feel another wave of power rising. “Emma, I’ll protect him, I promise you that, but don’t make me kill all of you first.”

Emma stared at him. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Emma, no. You can’t give Henry to her!”

Emma turned on her mother. “He’ll protect Henry,” she said quietly, “and Regina won’t hurt him.” Her face was pale, but her expression was set. “I’d rather be alive to take him back, wouldn’t you? What was it you said? Give him his best chance?” She reached up and clasped Snow White’s hand. “I just found my family. I don’t want him to lose his.”

“More haste, less speed,” Rumpelstiltskin growled. He was trembling from the effort of containing the magic. Better to focus on that now, than to think on anything, anyone else.

“You can take him,” Emma said.

The power dissipated like mist, and Rumpelstiltskin staggered, gasping, leaning heavily against a counter. He spat out a wad of blood onto the floor, raised his eyes to the family. “I’ll keep him safe,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of one hand. One side of his mouth twisted up. “Better at the right hand of the devil than in his path.”

“I think you mean her path,” Emma said darkly, pulling out her phone. “I’ll call Ruby.”

Charming approached him, looking at him suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “She would have wanted you to kill us. You have no reason to protect us.”

Rumpelstiltskin took a breath, then managed to straighten up, feigning that all was well. His limbs still shook, but they didn’t need to see it. He had to be strong and terrible, as he ever had been. “She has Rosie - Belle. She has my child.” He looked at Emma, who was talking urgently on her phone. “Your girl, she protected the people I care about. I‘m returning the favour.”

“And you need someone to stand against Regina if you can’t,” Snow White said quietly, always the brighter of the pair. To his surprise, she put out her hand, supporting his arm. “You look like hell.”

He laughed tightly. “Yes. Well, I’m not known for being a Prince Charming.” He looked at her. “Booth will tell you what’s going on. Failing that, the Blue fairy.” He winced, as pain jerked at him again. Regina was growing impatient. “I’ll try and limit the damage, but there will be casualties.” He looked from her to her Prince. “I can’t help that.”

Charming nodded grimly, and Snow White squeezed his arm. “You got the information to us,” she said. “We can use that.”

“They’re on their way,” Emma said. “Outside in two minutes.”

Rumpelstiltskin was out of the door in less than ten seconds.

Henry climbed out of Ruby’s car, looking warily at Rumpelstiltskin. “You’re bleeding,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I hope so,” Rumpelstiltskin said.

Emma crouched down in front of her son. “Henry, you can’t stay with me yet.” She held up her hand to stop him protesting. “Your mom’s using magic to make Mr… to make Rumpelstiltskin hurt people. If he doesn’t take you to her, bad things are going to happen to a lot of people.”

Henry stared at her, then looked up at Rumpelstiltskin. “You’re Rumpelstiltskin.”

He nodded tightly, his hands clenching around the handle of his cane. “And we’re on something of a short fuse, dearie. Her Majesty is getting… impatient.”

“She wants me back, doesn’t she?” Henry said, looking between Rumpelstiltskin and his mother. “She can’t use magic herself, but she can make someone else do it.” He stared wide-eyed at Rumpelstiltskin. “Does she have your heart?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Rumpelstiltskin hissed as another band of pain tensed around his skull. “We should be on our way.” He grasped Henry’s shoulder. “Do you still have your walkie-talkies?”

“Emma?”

“In the car,” she said. She looked at Rumpelstiltskin. “You keep the security around the house low enough so I can get close enough to call him, okay?” Rumpelstiltskin nodded. He could feel a fresh ripple of blood at his nose and the Sheriff winced. “You should go.”

“Don’t forget,” he said. “Booth.”

Emma nodded, folding her arms tightly over her chest. He knew what it felt like, the threat of a child being taken away to the monsters. “You take care of him,” she said tersely.

“As if he were my own,” he said quietly, hoping that wasn’t prophecy. Rumpelstiltskin kept one hand on Henry’s shoulder as they walked away. “You’re being very brave, my boy.”

Henry looked up at him. “My grandparents and my mom are heroes,” he said. “I want to be like them.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. Like another boy he had known, so long ago. “I need you to do something for me, Henry,” he said. “You remember Rosie?”

Henry nodded. “Your girlfriend?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s smile was brief and pained. “Something like that,” he said. “I think your mother, the Queen, has been lying to her.” He squeezed Henry’s shoulder. “I need you to look after her and Jenny for me.”

“I can do that,” Henry said. He reached up and took the handkerchief from Rumpelstiltskin’s pocket and gently wiped the blood from his face. “You don’t look good. Is she hurting you?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips wouldn’t cooperate when he tried to smile. “You have no idea.”

Henry nodded solemnly.

The rest of the walk was made in silence, and Rumpelstiltskin released Henry’s shoulder as they neared the Mayor’s house. Regina stalked out, smiling like the cat who got the cream, and reached out to embrace Henry. The boy stared up at her blankly.

“What do you want, mom?”

She smiled, stroking his cheek. “You, where you belong,” she said fondly. “It wasn’t so hard to come home, was it?”

“You sent Mr Gold to hurt Emma,” Henry said fiercely. “Why are you doing this?”

She bent down to look him in the eyes, ignoring Rumpelstiltskin. “Everything I’m doing, I’m doing to protect you,” she said, her voice low. “You’re going to stay with me, and I’m going to keep you safe.”

He pushed past her and ran into the house.

Regina straightened up, looking after him, and Rumpelstiltskin recognised the look of pain on her face. Parents losing children. It seemed to be a pattern. She turned back to Rumpelstiltskin and her expression hardened. “What?”

“Don’t hold on too tight, your Majesty,” he said quietly. “There’s no surer way to drive them away than holding onto them and them alone.”

She bared her teeth. “Like you’d know anything about it.” She put her hand to her hip, and he couldn’t help notice she had his blade hooked onto her belt. “I think it’s time we remind this town just who’s in charge, don’t you?”

He bared his teeth at her. “Having me smash the place apart won’t please your boy.”

Regina waved dismissively. “He’ll get used to it,” she said. “Now, go and show those sheep that the wolf is on the loose.” She smiled. “Start with the diner. Snow always did get sentimental about her allies.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s hand tightened on his cane. “Where’s Belle? And Jenny?”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “Did I or did I not just give you an order, Rumpel?” She leaned closer. “You’ll see them when I say so. Not before. Now go and wreak havoc.”

With her orders bearing down on him like a boulder, Rumpelstiltskin returned to town. 

It was chaos, but he made sure it was organised chaos with as few injuries as possible. The magic surged and leapt, and he dreaded the price that was to come. If he was fortunate, it would fall on the one forcing his hand, but magic wasn’t merciful or gentle, and it certainly wasn’t fair.

He returned to the Mayor’s house with the sound of screaming and sirens in his ears when night fell. 

Regina was at the dining table. Henry was there too, but didn’t look happy about it, and Belle was feeding Jenny. 

“Papa!”

Belle rose from the table so sharply she almost knocked the chair over. “I-I’m going upstairs,” she said, darting past him. His daughter squalled, reaching out for him, and it was all Rumpelstiltskin could do not to try and catch her.

“Belle!” he called.

“None of that,” Regina said sharply. “You leave her alone. You’ve done enough damage.”

Henry pushed his chair back. “Can I go and make sure she’s okay, mom?”

Regina smiled at him. “That would be very sweet of you,” she said. “Tell her that monster won’t be coming to get her or her child. I’ll make sure of it.”

Henry hurried after Belle, giving Rumpelstiltskin a quick, frightened smile.

“Town is burning,” Rumpelstiltskin said without moving any further, “as you ordered. The diner won’t be serving anyone, and last I saw, Whale and the fairies were making a good effort at trying to manage to wounded.”

“And the Sheriff?”

He shrugged. “I brought a building down on her,” he said. He had also shielded her from the impact, but Regina had no need to know that. “Her parents were digging through the rubble for her. Your precious Snow looked distraught.”

Regina smiled. “Good.”

“I want to see Belle,” he said abruptly. “I want to speak to her.”

The Queen laughed. “Oh, Rumpel,” she said, rising from the table. “You can keep wanting. She doesn’t want to speak to you. You burned that bridge the moment you threw your pregnant whore out of your castle.”

He was on her in a heartbeat, his hands around her throat. “She’s no whore,” he snarled, squeezing tightly.

“Stop!” It was a tiny, breathless gasp, but it was command enough, and his hands jerked away against his will. She lifted her hand to rub her bruised throat, her other at the dagger on her belt. Her eyes gleamed. “I think,” she said hoarsely, “I could like this new you.”

“There’s a limit to what I will tolerate, dearie,” he said darkly.

“You’ll tolerate everything I ask of you, _dearie_ ,” Regina purred back at him. “Because if the dagger isn’t enough, then I have two little trinkets who can live or die by your hand.” Her eyes widened in mock dismay. “The terrible monster Rumpelstiltskin killing the woman who bore his child? The horror!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he breathed, trying to push down the image of his hands around Belle’s throat, of hurting her again. He didn’t know what had happened to her after she left the castle, but he knew she feared him enough that she would believe him capable of killing her. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Regina said, smiling. She lifted his chin with a fingertip. “Try me.”

He bared his teeth. “You sadistic little witch.”

“I am what you made me, Rumpel,” she said, smirking. She bowed just as he had the first time she met him. “Just stand back and admire your handiwork.”

If it had been another time, another place, he might have done so.

He took a steadying breath. “Do you have any more orders, your Majesty?” he said, voice dripping loathing. 

She smiled. “No. Not tonight.” She motioned to the living room. “Take a seat on the couch. Don’t move and if anyone else but me comes down those stairs, you don’t speak to them, do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” he spat.

She waved him away, watching in amusement as he obediently sat down on the couch. “You might like to know,” she added with a thin smile, “you’re directly below Belle’s bedroom. Your lover and your child, directly above you, but just out of reach. Poetic, isn’t it?”

“Not especially,” he said tersely.

Regina laughed quietly. “I’m sure you’ll have a pleasant evening, Rumpel,” she said. She flicked off the light, leaving him in the dark. 

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, turning over thoughts and plans, ways to get around the fact that the dagger was in her hands. He was tired, drained, running on empty, but he couldn’t stop. He had to find a way out of the trap he had found himself in. There were only so many ways he could protect the people of Storybrooke without her realising that he was doing damage deliberately.

“Mr Gold?” Henry’s whisper was echoed by a burble.

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes were half-open, for which he was grateful. It meant he could see the boy on the stairs, and more importantly, he could see the bundle that Henry was carefully carrying down towards him. The babbling, giggling bundle.

Jenny.

Rumpelstiltskin’s breath hitched. He struggled against the magic, but the commands held. He could neither move nor speak, even when Henry was stumbling towards him, walking into the edges of furnishings, and his eyes pricked with tears when he heard Jenny joyfully cry out, “Papa!”

“Belle’s having a bath and she asked me to watch Jenny,” Henry confided in a whisper as he set Jenny down in Rumpelstiltskin’s lap. “I thought you’d like to see her.” He frowned, his face visible by the pale light filtering through the curtains. “Can’t you move?”

Rumpelstiltskin could have wept with gratitude when Henry bent and lifted his motionless arms and put them around his daughter. Jenny cooed, snuggling against him happily. She had no idea of the hell she was in, and if he had any say, he would keep it that way. 

“Belle was crying,” Henry whispered. “I told her you wanted to help, but she said you never helped her when she needed you the most.”

Needed him the most?

Rumpelstiltskin went cold with horror. He had a feeling he knew exactly what she was talking about. He had looked for her, of course, to be sure she was home and safe, but he had never found her. She had been hidden from his eyes, hidden and closed away and pregnant with his child.

Jenny murmured nonsense to herself, nestled against him, and Henry sat down beside him. “I can get you something to eat, if you want? You didn’t get back in time for dinner.”

The boy was truly his grandparents’ grandchild.

Rumpelstiltskin stared blindly ahead, unable to even look down at his daughter. She was a warm, soft weight in a world that was suddenly sharp and cruel again, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep tears from breaking from his eyes. 

A moment of peace couldn’t last.

“Jenny!”

Belle’s footfalls on the stairs were frantic. She rushed into the living room, flicking the light on. “How dare you!” she sobbed, rushing forward and snatching Jenny from Rumpelstiltskin’s lap. Jenny squealed in fright. “How dare you take her!”

“He didn’t!” Henry said urgently. “It was me! She wanted to see her papa, so I brought her down.”

“She shouldn’t be near him,” Belle said, backing away. “Do you hear me, Rumpelstiltskin? She’s my child! Mine! You left me there! You’re meant to come to the desperate and I was in a cage and I was desperate and you didn’t come! I called on you! I called on you until I had no voice left and you just left me there!”

It took all the power, all the will, all the strength he could muster to lift his eyes to her. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he thought her dead, that her so-called friend had hidden her away, but all the power in the world wasn’t enough to shatter the bonds around him. All he had were the tears that were leaving cold trails on his face, and the sharp, clenching pain in his chest. 

Belle’s face was crumpled and she was sobbing, and Jenny was wailing. 

“Belle, he didn’t mean to…” Henry said. He sounded as frightened as Jenny. 

“I don’t believe that,” she whispered. “He turned me out, Henry. You can think what you like, but he’s a monster. He drove me out, left me to starve and rot when I needed him.” She was shaking with the force of her sobs. “I didn’t have anyone to help me when Jenny was born. I didn’t even have anything to wrap her in. And I screamed for him. I screamed and he didn’t come.” Her voice trailed off into tight, broken sobs. “No one came.”

“Belle?”

Belle whirled around at Regina’s voice, and she rushed to the other woman, all but falling into Regina’s arms. The Queen looked over Belle’s head.

“Upstairs, Henry,” she commanded. “Now.”

Henry looked reluctantly at Rumpelstiltskin, then fled up the stairs.

“I told you leave them alone,” Regina said in her sternest voice, but the smile on her face, out of Belle’s line of sight, was triumphant.


	22. Chapter 22

Belle knew she should feel safe, but she couldn't.

Regina had taken her in again, as she had in the old world. She had given her a home, shelter, warmth and protection, and she knew she should feel safe. She had her child. She had the protection of a woman who could keep Rumpelstiltskin away from her.

But Rumpelstiltskin was still in the house.

She couldn't face going down the stairs in the morning, until she knew he had left the house.

She didn't know or care what he was doing, as long as she didn't have to see his face. 

Jenny cried for the man she called papa, but Belle couldn't bear to let the monster near her child. She remembered too many nights, alone in the dark, when she had wept and called his name. She had been barely a league from Rumpelstiltskin's castle after he cast her out when black-clad bandits took her. She was blindfolded, gagged, stifled, and bundled into a wagon.

They didn't touch her other than to move her, but she heard them speaking of a price for pretty slaves, and she had been too numb with grief to be afraid. Rumpelstiltskin was still crowding her thoughts. She knew she loved him, and the curse had started to break, which told her that he must have loved her too but he took her maidenhead, and like a beast, he turned her away, her virgin blood still on his skin.

At first, she tried to be brave, even when they closed her up in a cell, the walls marked with dark stains and strange symbols, the marks of hundreds of other prisoners. It was easy to be brave, for they were not the mighty and terrible Rumpelstiltskin. They could not end a war with a snap of their fingers or turn a man to stone with a gesture. She had been imprisoned before. It wasn't so unbearable. It was dark, it was cold, and it was lonely, but then her monthly blood stopped flowing.

That was when she knew what it was to be afraid. 

That was the first time she called out for him.

If he had ever loved her, she believed he would come.

He didn't. 

When her belly started to grow, when she understood just how terrible her circumstances were, she called on him again and again. She was desperate. 

The bandits spoke of moving her once the child was born, because two slaves were more valuable than one. They fed her better. Not well, but better than they had been, and she knew they would take her child, the one good thing to come out of her time with Rumpelstiltskin, from her. 

They would take the one thing she had left. 

She had lost her virtue, her family, her freedom, the man she had believed she could love.

When the child stirred in her belly, she wrapped her arms around it.

"They won't take you from me," she whispered. "They won't."

No one would ever take her child. It was the solemn promise she had made. It was the promise she kept. Even when the labour left her bloodied and screaming, even when she called on Rumpelstiltskin's name for mercy, for kindness, for anything that wasn't a black-walled cell. When her - their - child slid from her body onto the dirt and straw, she wept and wrapped the keening creature in her skirts, holding her close. 

She begged for aid from her captors, begged and wept, and in the end, shabby clothing and a blanket for the child were provided. It was only marginally better than nothing. 

The child was perfect.

She was small, her body pink and beautifully formed, and the wisps of her hair were tawny. The same colour as his. She cried softly, and only a little as if she knew the dangers of drawing too much attention. Belle looked on the tiny creature, a tiny flicker of light in a world that was dark and empty. 

Belle named her Guinevere. She didn't know why, but the child was small and fair and sweet, and the name suited her. Guinevere with her tawny hair and eyes that turned dark brandy brown in a matter of weeks.

She remembered those first days flew by. They wanted the child weaned before she was taken from her mother, and she remembered her fear every time they entered the cell and poked and prodded at the baby. When Guinevere's first teeth came through, when she was able to take solid food, Belle tried to keep the child from them, but they knew. 

Desperation made her dangerous. 

They put her in a wagon to carry her to her new master, one who wanted a serving woman and who had need of a child to be raised in their household for some unnamed purpose. It terrified her. They wanted her child, to use her, perhaps even to harm her. 

Yes, desperation made her brave.

They didn't shackle her. They thought her broken. They didn't see the sharpened piece of a broken pot hidden in her skirts, not until it cut into the throat of the solitary guard. He made a small, gurgling sound and blood gushed thick and hot over her hand. He reached for her, but she threw herself back, watching in sickened horror as he twitched and jerked on the floor. 

She was soaked in blood when she scrambled from the back of the wagon, holding Guinevere fast, and down onto the road, rushing to the tangled undergrowth. She concealed herself, lying in the long grasses, thorns scoring her arms and face, as she tried to catch her breath, and for the first time in over a year, breathed in fresh air and felt the sun on her skin.

Belle wished she wasn't afraid. 

She remembered being a prisoner before, and she knew that for all that she could come and go freely in Storybrooke, she didn't dare to. There were enemies out there, men who had known her in this world and that, men who would see her as vulnerable without Rumpelstiltskin claiming ownership of her. 

Day in, day out, she watched the time drift by.

People came against Regina, people she knew, people she wanted to believe she could trust.

Mary Margaret came under a white flag several days later. It was one of the few times that Belle had ventured out of her room. Jenny was safe and asleep. She was Jenny now, and she knew it was her name, and wouldn't respond to Guinevere. Her name was no longer hers, and that hurt. 

Belle had locked the door to make sure Henry wouldn't steal her for her father again. She stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Regina and Mary Margaret spoke in low voices. Regina was smiling, but Mary Margaret looked pale and tired.

"This can stop," Mary Margaret said quietly as Belle crept down the stairs. "You know you can stop him."

Regina folded her arms. "If Rumpelstiltskin is on the rampage," she said, "You'll have to find some way to stop him yourself. I have a child to protect." She glanced at Belle, who was halfway down the stairs. "A friend too."

Mary Margaret looked up at Belle too. Belle could remember their last conversation in the diner, when Mary Margaret tried to convince her that Regina's intentions were not as good as she wanted to believe. Mary Margaret couldn't understand. No one else could. None of them had given birth to the child of the Dark One. 

"Are you okay?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Of course she is," Regina said sharply. "She's under my protection."

Mary Margaret's gaze returned to Regina. "I'm sure she is," she said flatly. "I remember your protection too well, your Majesty. My life for his, I recall. And he was to be executed."

Regina scowled. "We're done," she said, nodding out the door. "Henry is safe. Belle is safe. You have no reason to come to me again."

The other woman gazed at her calmly. "You have my grandson. Rumpelstiltskin brought down a building on my daughter. We're never going to be done."

Belle's legs trembled beneath her, and she sank to sit. Rumpelstiltskin was killing people out there? And Regina still let him into her house? She said she knew what she was doing. That she was controlling him with magic as much as she could, but she said she couldn't stop him, and people were dying.

Regina closed the door, locked it. "That woman," she said darkly. "She loves nothing better than taking the people I care about from me."

"She said Henry was her grandson," Belle said, her voice trembling. "Emma... is Emma her daughter?"

Regina looked genuinely surprised. "You didn't know?"

Belle leaned against the wall, pressing her hand to her mouth. Emma. He brought a building down on Mary Margaret's daughter. Emma was the daughter. Rumpelstiltskin brought a building down on her. Emma. Her friend. The person who was the first stranger to put out a hand and help her in this world. 

"Belle?"

"I don't feel good," Belle said quietly. She knew she could expect little sympathy from Regina over Emma's loss. She struggled back to her feet. "Henry. Does he know?"

"He doesn't need to know," Regina said, her voice sharp. "Not yet." She smiled, but it was tight, unconvincing. "Let him be innocent just a little longer."

Belle nodded numbly. She picked her way back up the stairs, her hand braced against the wall. As much as she owed Regina, sometimes, the other woman scared her with her intensity. She made her way back to her room, unlocking the door and slipping in. 

Jenny was still asleep but Belle lifted her from the cradle anyway. She needed someone to hold, and though Jenny complained fretfully, she snuggled against her mother, as Belle curled up on the bed, rocking her. She must have cried, because her face was wet, and there was a burn in her throat that hurt. 

She knew drinking alcohol helped. She hated it. She hated that she had depended on it. She hated that Rumpelstiltskin had taken that dependence and turned it back to him. He had tied them to one another, and if she drank, she would undo everything she had achieved in getting clean. If she drank, she would be breaking herself even more than she already was. 

There was a light tap at the door, and she raised herself on one elbow. "Regina?"

The door opened a crack. "It's just me," Henry whispered. "Can I come in?"

Belle stared at him. The boy who didn't know his mother was dead. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "Come in."

He shut the door behind him, and to her surprise, he turned the key in the lock, then hurried towards her. He stopped dead beside the bed. "Is something wrong?" he asked, worried. "You're crying."

Belle wiped her face, forcing a smile. Perhaps Regina was right to keep the boy's innocence intact. There was nothing as painful as the loss of a parent. "I knocked my foot," she lied, sitting up and patting the mattress. "Are you okay?"

He nodded eagerly. "Can you keep a secret from my mom?" he asked.

Belle hesitated. "I can try," she said, knowing that if he was about to put himself in danger again, she couldn't let him do that. 

He pulled a walkie talkie out of his pocket and set it down on the bed. "I just spoke to Emma," he said. "She told me what's happening outside."

Belle's heart sank. "Emma?" she echoed.

Henry nodded. "She wants you to know something important. She told me to tell you. She said you have to understand, because you're being hurt just like he is."

Belle looked down at Jenny in her arms. "Henry, Emma... she was attacked by Rumpelstiltskin."

"No, no, no," Henry said urgently. "It was all a trick. We had to fool the Queen to make her stop trying to kill Emma. If she thought she was dead, then she wouldn’t go after her anymore. Rumpelstiltskin saved her!"

Belle stared at the boy. “Emma’s alive?”

Henry nodded. “But you can’t tell my mom,” he said. “She’s the one who’s doing this all.”

Belle shook her head. “No,” she said. “No. Rumpelstiltskin. He’s the one with the power. Regina said he’s the one who was tearing town apart. She said that’s why we have to stay in here.”

Henry crawled across the bed, closer to her. “Did you see the knife my mom has?” he asked, his voice lowered to a whisper. “The one on her belt?” Belle nodded mutely. She remembered Rosie’s memories, the reason she had stolen the knife to begin with. Henry confided, “It controls him. If you hold the knife, you control Rumpelstiltskin.”

The world seemed to contract and Belle’s vision swam. “That can’t be true,” she whispered, her mouth dry. “Why would she do that? Why would she hurt people?”

Henry stared at her. “You really don’t know who she is, do you?”

“Sh-she’s my friend,” Belle said. She felt lost. He couldn’t be right, but she remembered when she held the knife, when she told Rumpelstiltskin to be still and silent, he had been. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

The boy grabbed her hand. “Stay here,” he said, then scrambled up and ran from the room. He returned moments later, a leather-bound book in his arms, which he set down on the bed. The cover was embossed in gold with ‘Once Upon a Time’.

“What is this?” Belle asked, too tired, too lost, too confused to understand.

“It’s the story of everyone in town,” he said, flipping open the pages. The image that glared up at her was familiar and she stared at it.

“Regina,” she said quietly.

“The Evil Queen,” Henry corrected just as quietly. “Do you remember the story of Snow White?” Belle nodded, looking at him. “Mary Margaret is Snow White.” He pushed the book towards her. “You need to read this. It’s the story of why we’re here.”

“Henry, it’s just a book,” she protested. “Anyone could say anything about her in it.”

He looked at her so solemnly that she doubted herself. “Trust me,” he said. “If you don’t believe me, think about everything that happened since Emma came to Storybrooke. That’s why things started changing. Think about Mr Gold.” He left the book on the bed. “You don’t have to believe me, but we have to stop my mom. We have to stop her hurting anyone else.”

Before she could protest or think of anything to say to defend Regina, he scampered from the room. She heard footfalls on the stairs, and though she couldn’t say why, she shoved the book under the counterpane. 

Regina rapped lightly at the door before looking around it. “Are you hungry, dear?”

Belle forced a smile. “I could eat,” she said. “And Jenny will need something soon.”

Regina’s smile brightened. “It’ll be ready in half an hour.” She studied Belle’s face. “Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”

“I sat up too quickly,” Belle said with a small, tired smile. “That’s all.”

Regina withdrew from the room, and Belle pulled the book out from under the covers, staring at it as if it might bite her. She didn’t know what to make of it. Regina had been the one to tell her how to break Rumpelstiltskin’s curse. She’d been brash and confident and unsettled Belle with her manner, but she had meant well. 

Weeks, no, months later, they had ran into one another again.

Slavery was starting to look like a safe option.

Belle had done many things she was ashamed of to feed her child. She had stolen, begged, borrowed. When even that wasn’t enough, a man offered her coin for her favours. She was so cold, so hungry, so desperate, that she allowed him to touch her. It was only once, but once was enough and no amount of scrubbing in icy streams was ever enough to make her feel clean again. 

They were scraping by, but barely, and that was when she heard the whispers, rumours of Rumpelstiltskin’s bastard, a child damned by its own parentage. Belle kept her head down and her ears open, but the rumours became tales, and all at once, it felt like there were hunters after her child. 

She didn’t try to call Rumpelstiltskin’s name.

If he hadn’t come when she was in pain and screaming, she knew he wouldn’t come when she was afraid. Guinevere was almost five months old, and it was growing harder and harder to carry her everywhere. Belle was small and she was weak and she needed shelter as much as her child did. She knew she couldn’t return to her father’s castle, not when she was shamed and degraded as a whore and the mother of Rumpelstiltskin’s bastard.

The only other home she had ever had was Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. 

It was a long way and by the time she got there, her feet were raw and bleeding. Her heart sank when she saw that the doors were open. He never left his doors open. He trusted no one enough to allow them in without his consent. 

The halls were empty and dark and windows were smashed, blown outwards by blasts of magic. Tapestries were torn down, his claw marks visible in the fabric, and when she reached the spinning room, she felt a strange tightness in her chest at the sight of his spinning wheel smashed to kindling. Wherever he had gone, he wanted to leave nothing behind intact.

She approached the wheel, touching the broken spokes.

“To forget,” she whispered as the wheel creaked.

That was when she realised she was not alone.

The woman from the forest, the woman who was a stranger, was standing by the mirror, looking at her with quiet pity. “I wondered if you would be here,” she said. 

Belle backed away, wrapping her arms around Guinevere. “I-I’m just going to leave.”

The woman held up gloved hands. “Perhaps we can help one another,” she said. “You know this place?” Belle nodded warily. “I’ve heard that this is where Rumpelstiltskin crafted a terrible curse that will bring about despair and misery.”

Belle’s eyes pricked with tears. “That sounds like him,” she whispered. 

The woman moved closer. “I need to find a way to prevent the curse from being cast,” she said. “There are many parts to it, and it would be dangerous in the wrong hands. Please, can you help me stop him?”

It felt like a betrayal, but he had left her and their child behind, ignored, abandoned, forgotten. “Th-the north tower,” she whispered through dry lips. “If there’s anything, it’ll be there.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you, my dear,” she said warmly. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” She glanced down at Guinevere, who was squirming in Belle’s arms. “Do you have somewhere to stay? Aside from this draughty old ruin?”

Belle retreated a step. Kindness from a stranger was too much. “I-I don’t think that would be good,” she whispered. “People want my baby.”

The woman’s dark eyes held hers. “It’s his, isn’t it? Rumpelstiltskin’s?”

Fat tears rolled down Belle’s cheeks. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“Oh, my dear!” The woman swept forward, drawing off her own cloak to wrap it around Belle and Guinevere. “I would never harm her.” She smiled, and despite the dark paint on her eyes and lips, and the arrogance of her manner, she seemed in earnest. “No one need ever know who she is. You’ve helped me. Now, I’ll take care of you and your little one.”

“Why?” Belle whispered, her voice hoarse and trembling.

The woman she would come to know as Regina smiled. “Because you’re being very helpful to me,” she said. “The least I can do is help you.”

Belle looked down at the book, her hands resting on the cover. 

It was only a story. She could read it, and it would remain just a story. Regina was her friend.

She drew a shaking breath and opened the book. 

It was fortunate that Jenny was in a fretful mood when dinner came around. She was teething again, so Belle ate as quickly as she could, fed Jenny all the child would take, and retreated to her room with the tube of teething gel and a cup of tea. She locked the door, just to be sure she wouldn’t be disturbed.

The book was the fairytales she remembered from this world, but different.

The more she read, the more unsettled she became. 

The next morning over breakfast, she was lost in thought. Her eyes strayed occasionally, still wary, to Rumpelstiltskin sitting silently in the other room. It wasn’t his way to be still and silent. Even as Gold, he would drum his fingers and purse his lips. 

“Penny for your thoughts dear.”

Belle looked at Regina, startled. “Mm?”

“You seem distracted,” the Queen said, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

Belle smiled but it was far from genuine. The book had roused all kinds of doubts, and the more she thought, the more uncomfortable she became. She remembered when Emma came to town, because that was when Mr Gold had come and taken her home. That was when he had started to be kind to her. She remembered stories he told of the chipped cup, the woman he had been told was dead, the lost love.

If he remembered and was telling the truth, then she had to know what he knew, what had happened to him, why he hadn’t come for her. 

The knife.

She had to get the knife. If it was all lies, it wouldn’t work. If it was the truth…

She couldn’t even consider what would happen if it was the truth. 

“Jenny kept me up all night,” she said, which wasn’t entirely untrue. Jenny’s poor gums had been troubling her, but for the most part, she had spent the night with Henry’s book propped on her belly, drinking in the tales. 

“I remember that well,” Regina said with a wry smile at Henry, who ignored her to push his waffles around his plate. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

A thought surfaced, something that seemed so wicked and treacherous that Belle could not believe she was contemplating it, but she had to know. She couldn’t remain afraid of her friend, and she knew she didn’t have the courage to ask to see the knife, not if it might all be true.

“Would you be able to get me some kind of sleeping remedy from the store,” she asked, adding just enough plea to her voice to sound convincing. Regina expected her to be afraid and lost, and she could be that. “I-I just really need to sleep, and it’s so hard with Jenny and with… with him in the house.”

Regina smiled warmly, but now that Belle was watching her more closely, she saw a gleam there that wasn’t all sympathy and kindness. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll be going out this morning anyway. I have some matters to attend to at City Hall. Henry can stay with you.”

“And him?” Belle asked, jerking her head tensely towards Rumpelstiltskin.

Regina looked over at him. “He’ll go with me. After all, it’s his behaviour they want to discuss.”

Belle nodded grimly. “They can have him,” she said.

Regina looked pleased. 

She was still smiling as she prowled out of the house, Rumpelstiltskin at her side. 

As soon as the door was closed, Henry demanded, “Did you read it?”

“I did,” Belle said. “You said Emma’s alive? I want to talk to her. I’m guessing she won’t be at City Hall.”

Henry shook his head. “She’s right outside,” he said. “She stays nearby in case we get Rumpelstiltskin free and the magic shields go away.” He caught her hand. “She can hear us from my room.”

It was strange how much of a relief it was to hear Emma’s voice. Henry sat on the floor, playing with Jenny, and Belle asked all the questions she knew she couldn’t ask the boy. It felt wrong to disbelieve Regina, but when Emma told her exactly how the curse was broken, Belle stared blindly out the window, her stomach twisting. 

“She tried to poison you,” she said blankly. “To keep Henry.”

“People do desperate things for their children,” Emma said quietly. “How is he? Really?”

Belle looked down at the boy. “You’ve asked that more than she has,” she said quietly. “Will you be out there tonight?”

“I’m out here every night,” Emma said quietly. 

Belle closed her eyes. For good or ill, she was finding out the truth, and for good or ill, she needed someone to help her get Jenny and Henry out. “Okay,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s going to work, but I think I have a plan.”

She was scared. Terrified even. 

She only really had a few people she considered friends, and Regina was the one who had taken her and her bastard in, back in the old world. Regina had concealed them from their enemies and shielded her from their insults. They had a home there, and Regina smiled with them and was kind to them, and now…

Now that she saw the cracks, it was becoming clear it was all an illusion and not reality. 

Now, she was risking everything she had left to find out if what she had believed for months, for years, was all a lie.

It didn’t take much in the end. 

Regina came back, smiling her feline smile, and they ate together. Belle kept her eyes from Rumpelstiltskin, because if it had all been a lie, if he had been deceived as she had, then she had stolen his child. His second child. He had a son, she remembered. A son he had lost.

“I’ll make us hot chocolate,” she said, as she and Regina cleared the table. Henry was upstairs with Jenny, which was the only way she could be kept from toddling over to climb onto her father’s lap. “Do you like cream?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Regina said, stretching luxuriously. “It’s been a good day.”

From what Belle had heard through the radio, the hospital had been attacked. That didn’t sound like a good day to her. 

“I’m glad,” she said with a smile, pouring the ground up sleeping pills into Regina’s cup and stirring them vigorously. Her own cup was free of cream or sprinkles, and she handed Regina the spiked mug, sitting down at one of the vacant chairs at the table. “I-I was wondering. Jenny needs some fresh air. Would it be okay to go for a walk tomorrow? Safe, I mean?”

Regina’s teeth gleamed white. “I’m sure we can arrange something,” she said.

Belle smiled down into her hot chocolate.

It didn’t take long for the pills to have their effect. Regina’s eyes were growing heavier, and she rose, stumbling. “It’s been a long day,” she said. “I think I’ll get to bed.”

Belle rose, helping her up. “You deserve some rest,” she said.

Regina was leaning so heavily on the banister as she walked up the stairs that she didn’t even notice the knife was missing from her belt. Belle turned it over in her hands, running her fingertips along the inscribed name.

She didn’t know if she wanted it all to be true or all to be lies.

All she knew was that she had to know.

She turned the dagger over, curling her hand around the grip and tilted it so the blade was pressed flat against her arm, hidden beneath her sleeve. Her heart was racing, and she walked into the room where Rumpelstiltskin was sitting in the dark.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, her voice trembling. “Look at me.”

He lifted his head, and his eyes met hers in the darkness.

Belle trembled.

It was true.


	23. Chapter 23

Belle was standing there.

Belle was looking at him.

Rumpelstiltskin’s breath caught in his chest, and he curled his hands into trembling fists on his lap, the first he had been able to move freely in days. Regina must have been tired indeed to set the knife down unbound.

“Belle,” he whispered.

“Don’t get up,” she said, her voice shaking. “I-I want to know what’s going on. I want you to answer my questions.”

He nodded. She would want the truth, of course she would. He had hidden too much from her for her not to have questions, though he had revealed more and more with each day they had spent as Mr Gold and Rosie. 

She approached one tentative step at a time. “Why did you send me away?” she asked in a small, thin voice. “That night in the castle, why did you send me away?”

The truth came easily to him. He had confessed it before, and now, as himself, he confessed it again: “I was afraid,” he said, “of what you could mean to me.” He took a shivering breath. “I regretted it as soon as you were gone.”

He could see tears shimmering in her blue eyes. “You could have come after me,” she whispered.

He tried to crush down his own emotions, but he remembered scrying for her, and finding a blank place where she should have been. He assumed her father had her protected with magic to keep her from his sight. “I tried,” he said, his voice cracking, “I couldn’t find you.”

Belle made a small, distressed sound, sinking to sit on the chair, separated from him by the coffee table. “You looked?”

“For days,” he confessed. “Weeks.” His question hung unasked in the air, and he searched her face, wondering just where she had been, if not in Regina’s clutches.

She stared at him blankly. “The cell,” she said, her voice flat and tired. “There were marks on the wall. Strange marks.” She folded one arm across her belly. “I-I thought they were marks by the prisoners.” Her eyes were bright. “They weren’t, were they?”

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes. Wards. No wonder he had been unable to find her. “They were probably concealment wards,” he said quietly. “They picked a particular prison for you, if they found one with wards powerful enough to blind me.”

“They were only bandits,” she said quietly, doubt lacing her voice, “slavers.” 

Rumpelstiltskin felt a white-hot blaze of fury. “Slavers,” he echoed.

She looked at him, and she looked a dozen years older, her face drawn and tired. “They kept me there,” she said. “Especially when they found out I was pregnant.” Her hand pressed to her belly, and he could only imagine the horror of his child’s birth. “They were going to sell us.”

He shook his head.

It was too neat, too tidy. Slavers didn’t keep pregnant women for months on end. Slavers didn’t wait. Slavers traded slaves. It was cheaper to move them rather than feeding them and keeping them alive.

Belle was watching him. “What?” 

“They kept you hidden,” he said. “They never intended to sell you. They had to keep you hidden, so you couldn’t be found.”

Her face was pale by the moonlight. “I got away,” she said. Her voice was calm and steady, but he saw the way her hand clenched against her belly. “When Guinevere reached her fourth moon, I got away.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. Jenny was ten months old when he found out about her, when Emma Swan came to Storybrooke. Jenny was born ten months before the curse and in captivity for the first four of them. But the last six…

“She let you go,” he said, his voice flat with understanding.

Belle stared at him, shook her head. “No. No one let me go. I escaped.”

“You escaped,” he said quietly, “in the same weeks that I was closed away and unable to touch my magic. You escaped when I was locked up and couldn’t hear you calling.” He clasped his hands together in his lap. “She told me you were dead.”

Belle shrank back in the seat, staring at him. “She?”

“Regina,” he said quietly, his hands squeezing each other so tightly that the joints screamed in pain. “She came to the castle only weeks after you… left.” His breathing was growing ragged, remembering the witch’s lies. “She said your father had you locked away for your association with me. That you were… purified by priests.” The words caught in his throat. Scourged and flayed. Torture that had played across his mind’s eye over and over every night when he tried to sleep. “That you killed yourself.”

Belle shook her head, trembling, and rose from the seat, pacing the floor. “Why would she do that?” she asked. “She helped me.”

Rumpelstiltskin wished he could rise, hold her, comfort her, but it had to be her choice. “She wanted to hurt me,” he said quietly. “I hurt her, in her youth. I think she thought it would be a sweet revenge to take the woman I loved from me.”

Belle stopped where she stood, and slowly turned to look at him. “What did you say?”

“It was her revenge,” he said.

Belle shook her head. She was pale as a ghost. “After that.”

Rumpelstiltskin met her eyes and said without hesitation, “The woman I loved.”

She drew back a step, staring at him, like a caged animal that had been shown an unexpected kindness from a stranger. Her lips moved as if she was trying to form thoughts, and when she finally spoke, she asked, “Did you remember who you were before the curse broke?”

He nodded. “I did.”

She was trembling. “The day that Emma arrived, was that when you remembered?”

His tongue darted along his lower lip. “It was,” he said. He held her eyes. “It was a shock to find out that you were alive, and that we… that Jenny had happened, and I never knew.”

“Guinevere,” Belle whispered. “Her name was Guinevere.” She circled behind the chair, as if afraid to come to close to him. “You came for us.”

“I couldn’t leave you there,” he said simply. “I had pushed you out once before and left you in harm’s way. I couldn’t let you be hurt again.” He looked down at his hands. “I tried to keep you safe.”

“Because you still love me,” she said quietly.

It was the simplest question to answer in the world. “Yes.”

“Even though I was a whore.” One of her hands plucked at the back of the chair. “Even though I sold myself so I could live.”

“You protected our child,” he said. “I’ve done terrible things to protect my son, things I regret.” He gazed at her. “You were braver and stronger than I ever could be. All I wanted was to keep you from suffering anymore. I wanted you safe and happy.”

She raised her eyes to his face, and there were tears on her cheeks. “You lied to me,” she said in a whisper. “I saw you come home that night. The night you hurt me. I saw the knife. The one I gave Regina. Why didn’t you tell me what happened? I thought you had killed someone.”

“I wanted to keep the worst from you,” he admitted. “You’d seen so many terrible things. I didn’t want you to think that I had enemies who would try to manipulate me. You - Rosie - needed me to be strong. I couldn’t show weakness.”

She laughed into a small sob. “You’re still an idiot, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, lifting her other hand and she had his dagger. Rumpelstiltskin’s breath caught in his throat. “You could have trusted me and let me help you, but you didn’t. You don’t need to protect me all the time. I’m not weak.”

“Belle…”

She looked at the dagger. “I thought it was all you,” she said quietly. “In town. Hurting people. It wasn’t, was it?”

“No,” he acknowledged, watching the skin of her knuckles whiten as she tightened her grip. 

All this time, she had been compelling him, but it hadn’t hurt. She held his dagger, and nothing she had asked of him had twisted him in on himself. She asked for truth, and it was all he had to give her freely. Even without the dagger, he would have spoken honestly for the first time. She had earned it.

Blue eyes turned to him, watching him. “If I give you this back,” she said quietly, “what will you do?”

She knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t lie, not with the blade in her hand. 

“Kill Regina for what she did to you.”

She watched him intently. “And if I asked you not to kill her?”

His hands twitched on his knees. “I can’t make any promises,” he said. He wondered if he would have lied, if she hadn’t held the dagger in her hand. “After everything she did…”

“It might not have been her,” Belle said, but he could see the grave expression on her face. She knew that it had been too many coincidences piled on top of one another. “And she did all those things to me, Rumpel. If anyone should hurt her, it should be me. Not you.”

“Belle,” he began.

“No,” she said quietly. “You don’t get to kill her. That’s too merciful.” She touched the blade, tracing his name with her fingertips, her eyes following them. When she looked at him, the years had dropped from her tired face. “Promise me that. Promise me you won’t kill her.”

The words felt like they would stick in his throat, but for her, he would promise the world over. “I promise.”

A smile crossed her lips, brief, small, weary, and she stepped out from behind the chair. “Then I think it’s about time you were free,” she said.

Before she could even approach him, the crack of a gunshot rang out.

Belle was spun about by the impact, crumpling onto the floor, and Rumpelstiltskin cursed, trying to rise, but he couldn’t. The knife was still in Belle’s hand and she had told him not to get up. He had no choice but to obey. 

Regina was standing in the doorway, gun in her trembling hands. She looked unsteady on her feet and tottered into the room. “Little bitch,” she said, stumbling to Belle, who was spilled out on the floor. She tugged the knife from Belle’s fingers.

“Let her go,” Rumpelstiltskin snarled, fighting against the magic.

“Why would I do that?” Regina demanded, leaning heavily on the back of one of the chairs. Her eyes were drifting in and out of focus, and she emptied the clip from the gun before throwing it aside. “She’s not exactly useful anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin tried to see if Belle was badly wounded. There was blood on the floor, pooling around her, but she was still breathing. “So you’ll just kill her? After everything?”

She smiled at him. “Oh, no, dear,” she said. “You’ll kill her.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, his hands aching to wrap around her throat. “And Jenny?”

Regina’s hand tightened on the back of the chair. “I always wanted a daughter,” she said.

Promise or no promise, he wanted to tear her throat open.

Regina twitched the knife towards Belle. “Up you get, Rumpel,” she said. “Do what you’re told and finish her.”

He rose, staring at her, thinking fast. He had to take control away from her. His eyes flicked to Belle, and he saw her turn her head, eyes clear. She was conscious. Hurt but conscious. If he could disarm the Queen, then Belle would have a chance to escape. 

But how to disarm someone who controlled him?

He remembered a dozen lifetimes ago, a forest, a blade, a torch, a name.

“Making up for your own deficiencies, are we, dearie?” he said with a mocking smile, circling the coffee table with limping steps. “Can’t have children of your own, so you just have to take the children of your enemies. Mummy would be so proud.”

Regina bared her teeth. “I order you to kill her,” she snarled. 

“In time,” he said, stalking closer to her. “In time. Let her bleed, let her hurt just a little longer.” He was close to her now, and she was swaying too much to back away. “After all, dearie, death is a kindness, isn’t it? After all, it’s what freed your Daniel from you.”

“Shut up!”

He grinned, his words stolen, but he put his hand to his chest, feigned tearing out his heart and crushing it in his own hands. He uncurled his palm and with a mocking smile, blew against his palm, a shimmer of magical dust swirling in her face, briefly assuming the shape of Daniel’s face.

“Stop!” She lashed out, temper cracked and shattered by the drugs still pumping through her body.

Rumpelstiltskin hissed, the face shifting and laughing and vanishing.

Regina was sobbing furiously. “I’ll kill her myself, you sick bastard!”

He grabbed her by the arms, twisted her around, and bared his teeth, his grip punishing, bruising, unbreakable. The implication was clear: you’ll get to her over my dead body. She stared at him and never saw Belle rising behind her, swinging the empty gun down towards Regina’s head.

Regina’s hand moved before Belle’s made contact, and Rumpelstiltskin cursed silently as the blade sank into his chest.


	24. Chapter 24

Belle was angry.

She could not recall a time when she had felt angrier.

It didn't matter that she had been shot. The pain in her shoulder could be overlooked. It was strange what adrenaline could do to a person. What mattered was that the woman she had believed a friend, who she had made the mistake of trusting, was hurting people, hurting everyone, and worse than that, she was going to take Jenny. 

Rumpelstiltskin provided distraction enough for her to rise on shaking legs, blood soaking her shirt. She had no weapon but the abandoned gun, and she had no idea how it worked. But it was heavy and it was metal and she swung her arm with all of her strength, bringing it down hard on Regina's head. 

Regina folded to the floor between her and Rumpelstiltskin.

He smiled unsteadily at her. "Well done," he said, then looked down.

Belle's eyes were dragged downwards too. His shirt was dark, but it was growing darker and she could see a tear and a glimpse of bloody flesh.

"Rumpel?" she said, her hands shaking.

He stumbled a step then sat heavily on the arm of the chair, pressing his hand to his chest. "The knife," he said, his fingers trembling as he tugged his shirt open and pressed his hand inside. She saw a flash of a bloody wound, gaping and throbbing. 

Belle looked down at Regina. The knife was still in her hand, and it was red.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Rumpel, no."

A terrible, broken smile crossed his face. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said. His legs gave way beneath him, and he landed heavily on the floor, half-propped against the chair. She staggered over, kneeling down beside him, pulling the shirt wide. It was a low wound, beneath his ribs. It didn't look like it had hit the heart, but it was bleeding heavily. His hand wrapped around her wrist, sticky with blood. "Take the knife.

She stared at him, then nodded, scrambling across the floor and pulling it from Regina's fingers. Her breath caught at the sight of the blade. Rumpelstiltskin's name had vanished. Instead, Regina's name unfurled up the blade. "Her name is on it," she said, looking at him. "What does that mean?"

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes were closed, breathing shallowly, bubbles of blood at the corners of his mouth. "It means she's the Dark One," he murmured, "and I'm dying."

Belle's hand tightened around the grip. "No," she said fiercely, scrambling to her feet and running towards the door. She pulled the front door open. "Emma!" She left the door wide and rushed back to his side, kneeling down beside Rumpelstiltskin. 

It took some negotiation, but she managed to lay him down on his back, his head on a cushion, and pressed her hand to the wound, sinking her fingers into it to stem the worst of the bleeding.

"Rosie?" Emma's voice rang out from the hall. "You here?"

"In here!" Belle called through. "Get help! We need an ambulance!"

Rumpelstiltskin batted weakly at her arm. "Too late for that, dearie," he breathed. 

"Shut up!" Belle snarled. "You're not dying." She stroked his hair back from his brow, leaving scarlet smears on his pale skin. "I just got you back, you stupid man. I'm not letting you go now."

"They're on their way," Emma said, lowering her cell from her ear. She crossed the floor and knelt, quickly cuffing Regina's arms behind her back. The other woman groaned faintly, but didn't stir. "What happened here?"

Belle looked up at her. "Regina lied," she said. She nodded towards the stairs. "Henry's upstairs with Jenny. Get them out of here. Keep them safe."

"What about her?" Emma asked with a look at Regina.

Belle looked at her. "I'll keep an eye on her," she said, returning her eyes to Emma. "The children need to be safe. Get them somewhere safe. Please."

Emma nodded, squeezing her shoulder, and bolted for the stairs. 

Belle looked back down at Rumpelstiltskin. She could feel his life throbbing against her fingers, hot and wet. His eyes were half-closed. She ran her trembling fingers across his brow again, and tried to fight back tears. It wasn't fair, to find out that everything she had believed of him was a lie, that he loved her, and now, he was dying because he had tried to save her. 

"I missed you," he whispered.

She tried to smile, her lips shivering. "Now you're getting sentimental," she replied just as softly. "Is that why you had the cup?"

"Mm." His eyelids twitched weakly, then opened enough to let him look at her. "Yours." His voice was growing fainter. "All I had."

She could hear sirens wailing closer and closer. "Just hold on, Rumpel," she whispered.

Paramedics rushed in a moment later, and Belle moved aside, though she saw the way they hesitated, when they saw just who was lying on the floor.

"You're going to save him," she said quietly, kneeling at his head and looking up at them. "Or I won't be happy."

Maybe there was something in her expression. Maybe it was the fact she was covered in blood and holding a knife. Maybe it was the fact she was framed by Rumpelstiltskin and the Evil Queen and didn't look afraid.

It didn't matter.

What mattered was that they went to work, cutting away Rumpelstiltskin's shirt and hooking him up to an IV line. She sank back on her heels, watching them in silence. Her shoulder was hurting, but it wasn't fatal and she could wait. He couldn't. 

It seemed like an eternity before they had him on a stretcher and rushed him out towards the ambulance. Belle followed, but not before kneeling over the half-conscious Regina and whispering, "Stay there."

If the knife had worked for Rumpelstiltskin, then it must work for the woman too. 

The ambulance screamed through Storybrooke, and Belle felt herself swaying, dizzy. 

"Are you hurt too, miss?"

She looked blankly at the paramedic. "I was shot," she said. "But I'll be fine."

The paramedic stared at her, then grabbed a radio, calling ahead. It sounded like he was speaking in code language, and she turned her attention from him to Rumpelstiltskin. He was motionless on the stretcher and there was a grey hue to his skin that made her feel sick to the stomach. There was an oxygen mask over his face, a heart monitor linked to his chest, and tubes piping fluid into him.

She reached out blindly, groping for his hand, her eyes on his face. "You can't die," she told him solemnly. "I won't let you do that."

When they reached the hospital, she tried to rise, but her legs sagged under her.

"We'll get you a chair sent out," one of the paramedics said. "Don't move."

Belle's head was spinning, but she nodded. "Good idea. Look after him."

It was several minutes before someone came to fetch her, and she let herself be helped into a chair, wheeled into the hospital, and into a cubicle. A nurse helped her up onto the bed, and set to work cutting away her bloodied and ruined shirt. One hand remained closed tightly around the handle of the dagger, a grip on reality beyond the pain and dizziness. She barely winced when the woman started cleaning the wound.

Somewhere further into the ER, she could hear voices speaking, calm but urgent in codes she didn't understand: intubate, crashing, 20cc, clear. 

"I'm going to have to get the bullet out," the nurse said, drawing her back to her own situation. "It looks like it's lodged against the shoulder blade."

Belle blinked at her wearily. "Okay," she said.

The nurse met her eyes. "I can put you under or you can go local."

"I don't want to be asleep," Belle said. "Just take it out."

It hurt, but Belle gripped the edge of the mattress and stared stonily ahead. She didn't want to lose any more awareness to drugs or folly or blind ignorance. She blew out a slow, shivering breath when the bullet was pulled free, and hissed through her teeth as the wound was cleaned and stitched.

The curtain was twitched aside and she turned her head enough to see Emma standing there. The Sheriff looked pale and drawn. 

"You doing okay?"

Belle nodded. "Rumpel?" she asked. Her voice sounded thin in her ears.

Emma shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Whale's still working on him."

Belle nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "Are Jenny and Henry...?"

"They're safe," Emma said, stepping into the cubicle and drawing the curtain closed. "I left them with Ruby and Mary Margaret. They won't let anyone hurt them." She approached the edge of the bed. "What happened in there?"

Belle raised her eyes to Emma. "Have you ever had one of those days when the world you thought you knew fell apart?"

One side of Emma's mouth turned up. "Hell, yes," she said. "My parents turned out to be fairytale characters. Didn't see that coming." She sat down on the chair in front of Belle, searching her face. "Is Jenny really his? Mr Gold's?"

Belle winced as the needle cut into her skin again. "She is," she said. "It's..." She lowered her gaze. "We had a bad break-up." She shuddered as pain lanced through her. "Turns out Regina made it worse than it was." 

She flinched in surprise when Emma's hand touched hers. Emma looked up at her, offering a small, cautious smile. Belle clasped her hand and the support is provided. "But things'll be better now?" Emma said.

"I hope so," Belle whispered. She could feel the tears in her eyes. Her emotions felt like they were being rattled around all over the place, between shock, relief, anger, grief and the suffocating terror that after everything, he was going to die and leave them all over again. "I thought he abandoned us. But he didn't. It was all Regina."

Emma's expression was tense. "She's good at breaking families," she said quietly.

The nurse finished stitching the wounds, then cleaned Belle up as much as she could. Her jeans were stained, and she knew she would have to trash everything she was wearing. 

Belle looked up at footfalls. She knew she was gripping Emma's hand painfully, but if they were coming to tell her he was gone...

The curtain moved aside, and Doctor Whale stepped into the cubicle. He was without his white coat, and there were bloodstains on his shirt and tie, but he was smiling.

"Is he okay?" Belle asked, her voice shaking. "Is he alive?"

Whale nodded. "He's sedated at the moment," he said, "but we brought him back. Three times in fact. He lost a lot of blood, and and there was a lot of damage to his liver, but he'll live to terrorise town another day." He blew out a sigh. "He's a very lucky man."

Belle startled herself by sobbing. It wasn't just a small sob, but tore through her with a violence to match the gunshot. 

Emma squeezed her hand tightly. "It's okay," she said. "He's going to be okay."

"Thank you," Belle managed to say to Whale. "Thank you for saving him."

Whale's smile was happier than she could have expected for anyone interacting with Rumpelstiltskin. "It was my pleasure," he said. "If you want to see him, he's at the end of the corridor, in the room on the left."

Belle nodded, starting to rise at once. "Now," she said. 

"You should really take a moment to rest," Whale said, raising a hand in caution.

Belle looked up at him, eyes blazing. "I'm grateful for your concern, Doctor," she said, "but don't imagine anyone is going to keep me away from what's mine." She wrapped her hand around the grip of the bloody knife and picked it up. "That's been going on for long enough."

"Is that..." Emma began, looking at the knife.

"Mine," Belle said, her eyes still on Whale. "I'd like something to wear, if you don't mind. Then I'm going to Rumpelstiltskin."

Whale eyed her. "You really know who he is?"

Belle smiled. "Better than anyone," she said. "Now, can you get me something to wear?"

Within five minutes, she was dressed up in a gown, her own clothes taken away for incineration. Emma was gone already, gone to fetch Jenny for her, and a change of clothes from Gold's house. She padded down the hall to the room where Rumpelstiltskin was resting.

He was hooked up to more machines than she had ever seen in one place at one time, and looked small and pale and fragile. Bags of blood and fluid were hung by the bed, tubes and wires draped all over him, an oxygen mask over his face. His chest was bandaged, but other than that, he looked intact.

Belle approached, ignoring the nurse who was checking the machines. It was unsettlingly quiet, the silence only broken by the whirr and beeping of the machines. 

"Hey," she whispered, coming alongside the bed. She reached between the bars framing the bed and brushed her fingers against his. Weeks, months, even years of hating him weren't gone. They couldn't be. Nothing could undo that damage, but now, she understood why she had been alone and hurt for so long. And who was to blame.

She threaded her fingers through his, her other hand gripping the dagger.

"Dark One," she whispered, "I summon thee."

It was a long while, almost half an hour, by the time the door of the ward opened and Regina walked in.

Her wrists were still cuffed, and there was loathing etched all over her face. "You little bitch," she hissed.

"Stop talking," Belle murmured. She was sitting beside Rumpelstiltskin's legs on the bed, her hand gently cradling his. She turned her head to look at the other woman. "You know I could do anything I like to you right now, don't you?" She held up the dagger. "This makes you mine." She smiled, small and quiet. "How does it feel, Regina, to know someone else has your life in their hands? That I could play with you? Break you? Tear you down?"

Regina paled.

Belle watched her impassively for a moment, then slid down off the bed. "I want you to answer one question for me," she said. "Why did you hurt me so much?"

Regina's hands were twitching in front of her, and when she spoke, the words were spat out sharply, "Because I could. Because he hurt me."

Belle gazed at her. "And you hurt everyone else." She approached Regina. "You remember what you said, when you told Rumpel to kill me?" Regina nodded warily. "You said you were going to take my child. You were going to raise her as yours. I... don't like that."

"What are you going to do to me?" Regina asked, for the first time looking afraid. 

Belle looked at her. She knew she held the power in her hands to break Regina. She could send her out to be the victim of the mob. She could order her to end herself. She could unleash a thousand and one hells on her. But every one of them would be far too kind.

"Emma is coming back here," she said. "You'll turn yourself over into her custody without a fight. You'll let her lock you away." She stepped a little closer. "And in your cell, with no one to hear you and no one to help you, you will think on all the people you have hurt. And you'll realise just how much you have hurt the person you love more than anyone in this world."

Regina was ashen. "Henry."

Belle looked back at her. "Henry," she agreed, returning to Rumpelstiltskin's bedside. She looked down at him, her fingers resting lightly against his again. "I won't take your child from you. I'm not that cruel. But I will take away your blinkers, and you'll see exactly what you've done."

Regina retreated into the furthest corner of the room, as if that would prevent Belle's words from affecting her. She was silent and trembling, and Belle no longer cared. Her enemy was done, fallen, forgotten, under control. 

"I'm still here, Rumpel," she said softly. "We'll be together, like we promised. You, me, and Jenny." She leaned down over him and kissed his brow gently and whispered, "A family."


	25. Chapter 25

Rumpelstiltskin was woken by pain much to his surprise.

His chest was aching unbearably. He drew a shallow breath, his fingers twitching, and slowly opened his eyes. It was something that he had not expected to be able to do. He wasn’t sure what death was meant to be like, but a regulation pattern of white tiles and strip lighting did not feature heavily.

His breath sounded rasping in his ears, and he could feel the pressure of a mask on his face.

The hospital then?

It took a moment for his eyes to come into focus and he cautiously turned his head, seeking out some indication of whether that assumption was right. It was. He recognised the bland, blank walls, the machinery, the smell that filtered in through the mask.

And the small camp bed set up under the window.

He started to sit up and immediately regretted it, several of the monitors attached to him shrilling.

On the bed, Belle’s eyes flew open, and she looked up, wary as a caged animal. She met his eyes and he was astonished to see relief in her expression. Jenny, cradled in her arms stirred, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Belle whispered, rocking their daughter as she negotiated her way onto her feet. She left Jenny nestling into the warm hollow on the camp bed.

Rumpelstiltskin fell back against the pillows, looking up at her. “Hey,” he breathed.

Her lips trembled in a smile and she put out a hand, stroking his hair back from his brow gently, her other arm tucked up in a sling. “Welcome back,” she whispered as the door swung inwards and Doctor Whale strode into the room.

“So he’s awake,” he said brusquely. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes flicked to the man. “Seems so,” he said faintly.

The man looked down at him, and he was smiling. “You didn’t make it easy,” he said, then turned his attention to the machinery. “In fact, we had to bring you back three times. But I wasn’t about to let you go and die on me.”

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes with a groan, remembering another time, another place. “No,” he rasped. “You wouldn’t.”

The doctor checked the level of the drip connected to Rumpelstiltskin’s right hand and made some notes on the clipboard he was carrying. The man was smiling and smug, and for once, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t blame him in the least. 

For once, science had proved its worth, but Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t about to say that.

He was grateful for the fact he barely had strength to speak as an excuse. 

One of the machines beeped again, and a pleasant, dull cloud settled around the pain, stifling the worst of it. He took a deeper breath, grateful when it didn’t tighten and burn again.

“Well,” Whale said, “you’ll need to stay here for a few days at least to be monitored, but you’re recovering nicely. I’ll have one of the nurses come and change your bandages shortly.” He glanced at Belle. “How’s your arm feeling?”

She didn’t look up from Rumpelstiltskin. “Much better, thank you,” she said dismissively, still gently stroking Rumpelstiltskin’s hair.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t miss the look of muted disbelief on the Doctor’s face. Almost dying was worth it to wipe the smugness away with the knowledge that even the Dark One had more success in romance than the town’s leading doctor did. 

Whale snapped the clip file shut. “The nurse’ll need to check it too,” he said abruptly.

Rumpelstiltskin found he could care less about the man, as Belle pulled down the rail at the side of the bed and perched beside him, and he could feel the pressure of her hip through the blankets against his own. He looked up at her, drinking her in.

“Belle,” he murmured.

She loosened her sling, drawing her arm free, and slid her hand under his, where it rested against his chest. The fingers of her other hand curled loosely against his brow. “You scared me,” she said quietly. “You’ve been out for three days.”

“You’re all right?” he asked, searching her face. She was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. She looked exhausted, but then, hospitals never were meant to be places for proper rest and recuperation.

She laughed unsteadily. “Coming from you? The man with the knife wound in his chest who did a good job of trying to get himself killed?” Her hand tightened around his. “Rumpel, why did you do something so stupid?”

His lips twitched. “You know,” he murmured. He exhaled a shaking breath. “Is there water?”

She released his hand reluctantly and filled a glass from a pitcher on the locker that stood against the wall. She lifted the oxygen mask from his face and offered him a straw. He gratefully drew on it, his parched mouth so dry after days without.

When he drew back, she lowered the glass, cradling it against her belly, and gazed at him.

“Don’t do that again,” she asked quietly. “Don’t die. Not when I’ve just found out who you are.”

His eyes were half-closed again. It felt like such an effort to keep them open. The drugs, he had no doubt. “Your old monster,” he murmured. “A fool of a monster too. Fooled for so long.”

“No,” Belle said quietly, “the man who loved me and tried to protect me.”

He let his eyes rest closed for a moment, then forced them open again. “Always did,” he murmured. “I should never have sent you away.”

“Well, obviously,” she said with a small, tentative smile, nudging his hip with her elbow. She laid her hand over his again. “Rumpel, I remembered… you talked about a son? The son you said you lost. That you thought you could find him again?”

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could still touch magic, if he could still use it. He needed it to find Bae, but to save Jenny, to save Belle…

Nothing could match the price of a lost child, but now, perhaps he had sacrificed Bae to save Jenny, and if he had, if all his work had been smashed to dust…

“I don’t have magic anymore,” he whispered.

“No,” Belle said quietly. “You’re not cursed anymore. There’s still magic. You don’t need a curse to use it.” She squeezed his fingers. “You can’t tell me all that magic, all that knowledge, that was just the curse?”

He opened his eyes to look at her. It was a desperate hope, but even a desperate hope was better than no hope at all. “Perhaps,” he murmured. He looked over at the bed. “Is she all right?”

Belle smiled wearily. “She’s better than either of us,” she said. “Rumpel, that night? When you scared me: why did you get so upset?”

“A man pretended to be Bae to try to get my dagger,” he replied quietly. “He dangled the promise of my son in front of me, and then tore him away.” He wished he could smile, but he was too tired, far too tired. “I was afraid that I’d lose Jenny too.”

Belle looked at him, his brave, lovely Belle, then rose from the bed and went back to their daughter. He saw her wince in pain as she lifted Jenny in her arms, and would have protested had he breath.

She returned to his bedside as Jenny stirred, opening sleepy brown eyes. 

“Papa?” she murmured, rubbing one eye with her fist.

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips trembled and he held out a hand to her. She beamed drowsily, tugging on his finger. Belle leaned closer and carefully set their daughter down beside him, holding her in place with an arm around her waist.

“Rosie’s promise,” she said softly, “I’m going to keep it.”

He looked up at her. “Belle,” he began.

She held up her other hand, silencing him. “No, Rumpel,” she said quietly. “She kept us apart for long enough. Not anymore. You and me and Jenny. If your son is still out there, we’re going to find him. Together.”

He reached out to take her hand, holding it fast. “Are we…” His breathing was heavy, unsteady, and he forced himself to look at her. They both had memories of betrayal, hurt, of her past, of his, of so many mistakes and misdemeanours and reasons they should walk away from one another. “Are we all right?”

She looked at his hand, turning hers to interlace their fingers. “Not yet,” she said, raising her eyes back to his. “But I think we can be. Eventually.” She tried to smile, and there were tears in her eyes. “If you want to?”

He nodded, squeezing her fingers, his other hand caught in Jenny’s. “I’d like that,” he said. “My family.”

Belle’s smile grew stronger. “Good,” she said softly, and when she leaned down to kiss him, so softly, so chastely, so carefully, he believed her.

THE END


End file.
